Monday, 17 September 2007

SEPTEMBER 17

Soft still
fragrant autumn day
a sinking bonfire in the middle of town

Huge apples
Hanging
black spotted sycamore leaves crunch under foot
a pigeon calls and jackdaw and rook

Always jacadaw and rook

Gentle air to cushion my rushing, to fold in
a thick blanket of red over each hawthorn tree
Light grey sky veiling the sun all day
a tiny triangle gap lets a late beam onto Carningli
Take me into winter darkness

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