Time pauses, slips reflected through
the finger of a wine glass stem.
Left shrub busy, roses tumble wild
astride a crossword of slats:
semi-collapsed once fence,
once finished and paid for.
Towering poplars scale the sky,
echo anticyclone of argument:
stress and counterpoint hang,
divisions of undecided cloud.
At your window, loury in twilight indigo,
crab apple boughs mark boundary.
Evening weaves its own voice:
jets over half-heard accents, shrill Blackbirds,
and conflicting musical taste.
A glimpse of solitude resolved:
Swifts cruise the last blue patches, dying,
numberless beyond our reach.
vii.94
No comments:
Post a Comment