horizon tell
and why shouldn’t it be alright
to stay in bed all day
like that old man does
whose wife died
where is the horizon of his mind
where was it when it formed over
the days gone over
thoughts like a feral cat’s claws
walking away into the snow
see the red berries
each one is an horizon
to his eye
now don’t you dare
the truth is
you will be waiting a long time
for the truth is
even when you tell yourself this
it will be a lie for
the truth is who knows
how long is a long time
it is telling me
after the wait is over
(although i might not wait
i have important things to do)
so get on with it you do
trust me
don’t you
dare
agreed?
and why should the morning not be slow
when there are plums dried black upon the tree
and figs that don’t care a jot for me
if the light is late today so what
my cat is watching the leaves
both are immobile not a breath
between these bleed
or the catechism of the cream
that stirs my coffee’s dream across
these primordial neurotransmitters
that do indeed
reduce the speed
so why should the morning not be slow
are we agreed?
rest you upon the neap moon’s smile
what was once the high tide’s reach
is now an estuary of stranded thoughts
the broken boat hanging on its chain
wrigglies in the veins of the mud
reed-spliced the wind flows into
one year and out of the other
distant their surf breaks on the reef of times
they are gone now but they will return
for they are closer than you think
rest you upon the neap moon’s smile
nothing that begins lasts
juggling
the light lies gentle on this good night’s demise
bejewelled in the hazel’s turning of its leaves
that are not falling you see on a not not breeze
but hanging tinsel-like on the autumn trees
spidered in the leaf-light on a not-half dusty window
the shadows dance to a twig’s gyrating widow
stirring a mouse-leaf stirring in the wind
burning out like a dirty dream’s rescind
of a night’s contract with the day’s long tenure
until moon-rent full-down to the furtive sun
sinking sinking another wild night’s begun
tea he sea
three teas have gone
the mugs of me
almost time for coffee
milky ~ milky
with scone and butter
for the better to be
before my blue knees plod
a mile to the sea
for a swim in the briny
and a brisk walk back
for a cheese sarni
and three more lovely
mugs of tea
