Signals

They creak and sway in communiqué 
instinctively tuned to that ancient curve 
found in the gentle hollow ear of land.   

These signals have stood for years 
witness to rail-riding tramps 
departure and return of geese 
curve of her Grandmother’s hip 
bent with harvest 

And now they stand between 
old graves and warm tracks 
listening long to the length of ghosts 
whistling to the weight of trains 
he starts to spin 

like a weathervane lost in the echo 
of wind she starts to spin like a leaf 
lost in the branches of Poplar 
they creak and they sway 
in this magnificent silence 

very much in awe with 

what 
on earth just blew by.