Hockney

 HOCKNEY

How far did they walk your heart?
I wander in those same vales,
Walk down those same paths and trails,
Treading in the wake of your beat

On bosky lanes I see gnawers,
Scurrying up trunks in bright sun,
I follow your trail up Woldgate,
To beet fields where rabbits jump 

Clambering up a karstic hill,
Skating black ice through cold sky tears,
Large squirrelled trunks motor past me,
Then I look back to rolls of quilt 

Knowing you were there to see,
Each little wild sunflower,
Set on fresh, chalked grasses,
In vales of wolded ranges 

Near where I stand you painted,
In dim wood light, I whisper,   
 If I could fill this moment,
In motets of sweet birdsong 

Even now I dare only creep,
Afraid to shake apart frescoes,
Nodes in my eyes grow to stems,
I step in your tracks and trails

You made those trails, I follow,
Running along the ridges,
My eyes and ears sharp as boughs,
Jumping across your canvas

Hamnett

HAMNETT

Looking across the empty parts,
     Wastes within which hearts are frigid,
          Keener touches dance through dandelion,
               Weary me that sensed the dark with dark senses

The golden chains of life flash through me,
     As if I am made of glass, mottled cloudy blue,
          That could convince a demon-witch who seeded you,
               Laid bare on spurs, limpid larvae like cankers,
                    Giving life through chrysalis,
                         Down on which mothers spoiled favour

Your smile, I remember through pellucid visions,
     Found when I searched deep pools,
          Lights up pits and leaves my senses embalmed,
               Your mop, like a bright sheaf,
                     Then as bloodied knives tear through aspic,
                          Purple moments fade to blackness

You I remember through the dullest things,
     Like wicket gates that make baileys,
          Shrubs that tower like trees,
               Old doors that serve grand churches,
                    In my heart you grow again,
                         I knew it before it was seen,
                             Found you alive in my pen