Samboo's Grave at Sunderland Point

creeps of sunlight over the saltmarsh
bells everywhere too what bells such?
nothing left beneath only a tiny skeleta
there in the wind from over without
Barrow and Overton
from here to there
up the Irish Sea the overfalls sing
then all out southward freaks of wind
curving in eastward on the intent, the raptor
look at this in 3D
look again, Samboo
your mother dead on the beaches, the bone-beaches
of the endless western Afrique
far-off the sluff and slough
the gold and the kohl the markets of Cathay and Shendy
for this for this
you here
you here
why here?
all of it, ten thousand years in the marram the cow-heads narrow ring
the tramped fescue of a buried violin singing below
and no homecoming
just this loneliness
just this violation of the co-opting
into everyone's dream
everyone who came here to stamp and steam
like cattle about your little garden of squashes
pumpkin-head boy from the meridian lands
sleeping soft and lonely beneath below and black
and how was it done was it just a wheelbarrow
no gymkhana plumage, no funeral cortege
just the function, the deposition, the sediment
the geology of the placement
of a little black heart
there at the wind's wild edge
where it mattered most and least

trampled a thousand over
Samboo universal Samboo
weeps soft over the haunted bay
whirls thrice through the cockles
lingers a moment like a ghostly Susan
then thinks again
and is gone

here, spirit, here
we have caught your soul and you
are forever
our little semantic boy
all in pieces and scatters underground
squashed and overarching
how little and lost and longing, all of it
how tiny and lost and ferocious
down there
Samboo
down there in the warm and endless cold
where your mother chokes
across all of time
some great universal choke

where is my mind?

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