Blackbird seems to wonder where I’ve been;
hops on the table, then to water tin,
shaking head in mirror, rippling sky,
retreats as I sit down, not far to fly
but flit to hazels. A last bounce for Joe,
before the trio pack themselves to go.
Lorries roaring and the roads’ buzz-saw:
hurried worlds, slurrying intents devour.
Now the wind returns with its whip and spurs -
but Joe, lying down on damp mat murmurs
over and over his chosen phrase,
(sweet big lunk-head of his carefree daze).
It’s how you love it, how you live it: sure,
the grey rain-splatter of events endure.
....
YOU ARE READING
Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
