After The Air Tattoo

All in the stilly night the muntjac

roars from its hedge: a barking roar

of July, heat, its own broken-open

fruition

under black

viscose, a sky

static with plane-roar.

The intermission after the greatest air show in the world;

fields and lane recovering;

tarmac tonguing sky again,

languid

in the summer half-dark, towards Fairford –

ancient glass trembles,

facets of dark opening to tumble out

king, revenge-tragedy, triumphal colours of God.