Seasonal

The mornings autumn colours
The mornings autumn mist
I am lifted, the drift
If that is what it is, continues

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Furrowed

Silvery white, easier to say grey, sky

At the gate, good and early, with thoughts

Of loved ones; scattered about, yet

Pulled together by a few words

Among the ploughed fields

Visible as the mist rises

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Displacement

By natures light
The one moon
On meadow grass

Then
As
Now

Lone squeal
Twixt wood & window
A death of sorts

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Pinpoint

Home
In a state of flux
By
Dark night sea, moonlit

Fifteen minutes, no more
Thousands of hours ago

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Home Service

Ever so
My mother
With her love of letters

Contentment
That creeps
As lead on typeface setters

All those footsteps
In pleasant vales
Ragged trousers, wind in sail

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