unlatch this window
let words flit into the big warm grasses like so many bitty stones
like a herd of stones
like a book of stones
the tree is blank
bamboo chimes call birds to banquet
call the blades back onto their stalks
deep notes that echo each with the gusts
fussy birds bellies orbed shimmy on walls
hover inaccurately in loveliness near waving birdseed
cheeky chatter clusters around ashen boughs
leaves lay low
they speak their leaf-throats rustle crisply with sweet treason
dead beauty all browns whisked crowd beneath three trees
sun stains with titian molasses thick soft warmth
skin smoulders with late afternoon's secret light plying
sets us in snug mould cradled cradled
unlatch this window
let words flit into the big warm grass like so many bitty stones
like a herd of stones
like a book of stones
seasofme060721
