Heat.
Midsummer
day they call it. We’re at home,
Held
together by a pine table top
Which
upholds our arms, heavy with sweat;
Cast
adrift eyes, unfocussed, dream with
Glances
window-ward, ears fixed on pigeons
Small
talking the chimneys to sleep.
A
solitary – what? Elm? Is unconcerned
Serene,
unobserved or seen adjusting leaves.
We’re
caught in a moment that should melt us
Into
leaning, transforming the silence
To
that which we had, once upon a time
When,
sitting at the centre of everything
The
only voice the rub of leaf on twig.
2 comments:
Terrific snapshot. Your voice is recognisable and strong in this. I enjoyed the pacing and the imagery.
Loved this.
Is it me or are these verification words almost impossible to read these days?
Post a Comment