Shapes mapped in the darkness

From behind gooseberry bushes
the rhythm of radio pop music
American, Detroit and I think
Today let’s live but tomorrow…

The apple tree drops apples
on leaved soil, each one a future
not bitten, the rot lets death
say which roots, which grows

On the washing-line, in pairs
Magpies chatter with harsh
judgements like toy soldiers
that stab with tin fingers

Later a moon smile breaks
an owl stays silent to a question
and the wind turns from the east
to blow a page open

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s