When all,
my love,
you've left
of love
...
I'm watching snow melt on trees
from the window of a room
turned reliquary,
harbouring the bones
...
Up in Idaho
night's a starched taut canopy
all owl-hoot song and woodcock coo
presaging blear eyed dawn
...
In such sullen heat
words themselves,
as if they bore some talismanic balm,
drip like perspiration from the lips.
...
I juggle with words
Smuggled from a thesaurus
And rhyming dictionary
...
This world should not contain:
canvas shoes, rain
pneumatic tyres, itinerant nails
stepping stones, snails,
...
Six thirty a.m.
and a holiday!
I throw aside the tangled sheets,
too early woken
...
'A little grey suits you' she says.
'Gives you a most distinguished air'.
'It never used to' he says
noting the gaunt yellowed skin,
...