Monday, 22 July 2013

Cloud Towers

Summer grasses
Dried now to silvered russets,
Footsteps marking the beginnings of a path-

A pigeon half hidden
Among the folds of the chesnut's leaves-
Cloud towers rising in aspiration spent.

The jackdaw's bright eyes
Revelling in its intelligence
"Come dance with me. Come sing with me" -
No words, no barrier.

Even gripped by heat
Nothing lays still too long.
Where once snow lay
Now a paper trail of the discarded.

Between words
The poet,
Two flies at rest on his knee.

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