A grey cloud, low-slung, the land's cape
this morning sitting lightly on the shoulders
of Dartmoor. Removed, now,
thin sun peeking down the valley
...
Winter is late. Freezing. Cold draughts limbo under front door,
roll up the stairs and zig around the banisters to
attack me in my studio. No, no
I will not buy fingerless gloves. I will turn on
...