from the south the wind
softens biscuits, hardens hearts
open doors, damp nights
the summer is near ending
from the south the wind
softens biscuits, hardens hearts
open doors, damp nights
the summer is near ending
Silkie outgrew the pond.
Once again, under cover both of night and of the tarpaulin over the wheelbarrow, we bumped him down to the sloping sand.
Clouds opened the sky and a grey head appeared in the black mirror waves.
Silkie swam towards the moon, not looking back this time.
Rain ran down the statue’s face
as it had since the casting, the carving,
the muddled unveiling,
the cheering and booing,
the eventual forgetting.
Rain ran down, uncaring.
every year is shorter
than those which went before
as the world turns and
returns to tomorrow
I await you golden
breath held in slow heat
Whenever the heat reaches an unbelievable peak,
clouds and thunder roll.
The atmosphere is breezeless, breathless,
until souls have cooled and
sky clarity returns.
icy roof shower
nakedness dodging
the neighbours’ sharp eyes
home from the sea
skin sun-scorched
the icy shock of the shower