on looking through dawn’s window

 on looking through dawn’s window

in the jigsaw verity of this low morning

the cobwebs spindle to the blackbirds wing

and a lone geranium’s stance at autumn’s end is

a barley-eyed tear nasal backing a throat

the long screwed shadows of plumbed time

and never once did the sun rise over the hedges

all the while the cat and i are watching the birds

scrape their breakfast from the stone worms

highest patted the double cream clouds move

in the slowest churn of lateness warming

to the task of a day’s yearning that when 

diamond drawn the scabbard daggers pierce the dew

on every twist of a corkscrew hazel’s done

barely a leaf left clinging to the very idea 

that summer might overturn the last vote of leaves

but of course its done and dusted blown

and yellowing browning mouldering 

with my thoughts upon a blinking at

the steam of a coffee hanging urgent

i arise from my long repose with the weasel sun

blinded white every vestige of languid comfort

the games afoot the sea calls long and low

it’s time to go boy

it’s time to go