At least two sides

Half in lightness, half in dark

Half way home past Lincoln Park

Half in Sodium, half in sky

Halfway there I wonder why

Half in praise, half in pain

Halfway past I can't explain

Half in darkness, half in light

Halfway wonder that I might

Half in sleep, half in wake

Halfway from the dreams I make

Half in stillness, half in flight

Halfway way up then out of sight

Half in bud, half in leaf

Halfway acorn underneath

Half in mist, half in dew

Halfway home the migrants flew

Half in sun, half in shade

Halfway done the moneys made

Half in anger, half in doubt

Halfway round the roundabout

Half in clover, half in rye

Halfway over do I cry

Half in Dover, half in France

Halfway over my last romance

Half in life, half in death

Halfway gasp for my last breath

Half in mourning, half in joy

Halfway dressed in corduroy

Half in many, half in few

Halfway sent the soldiers knew

Half in danger, half in doubt

Halfway arms they held them out

Half in stillness, half in style

Halfway art on murder mile

Half in brother, half in son

Halfway death for everyone

Half in justice, half in retribution

Halfway rumours court confusion

Half in peace, half in reconciliation

Halfway long walk from alienation

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Straight roads

The flat spot

At the top

Of the up down

Arable and

Farm land acres

Hedgerows almost

Into fences

Trees without leaves

Long shadows follow

The line of the plough

A sunset, bigger

Than a cathedral

A moon decked

With all of Saturn’s rings

Or so it seems

Does it mean

I have seen into

A deeper autumn

Or is the clean air

A warmness of your giving

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Wet and cold and warm

Frosted crinkled crystals sat upon the five bar gate

Sentry to the streams and turnpikes

Blessed as the very day that we wait

All the while we listen outright, touch the frost atop

The five bars; held together by diagonal slants

Swung on and off the blacksmiths curled hinges

In the stillness, on the stiff crumpled grass

Sparkled sharpness of the dampness frozen

Moments as later breathe air of kingdoms passed

Look closely at your clothes, your skin

All of the outside of within

Think on that fair scented hair shampoo 

And the bath salts

In your early morning hot water soak

Later, in the library or bookshop

Or perhaps the Methodist Tea Rooms

Sit in the happiness of this sunlight

Read these or someone else's words

Dream of pancakes for tea

With treacle and maple syrup

And dollops of vanilla ice cream

Then, even though it's not politically correct

Take a cigarette

Inhale and exhale your love

Puff away, rub your thumbs and fingers

Wipe off the gathered ice

From your well worn shoes

Even without the snow

It's good to go into the mist

Beyond the stream, out into the clearing

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Word

 I thought the modern word sat uncomfortable

Among the older established form

Though precisely right in the context of the story

But not the word of a painter, or a lover, or one

Whose sadness waits uniquely upon the shoulder

In this minimalist gallery, where all we see is light

I think of that word postscript, which here and now

Does hold some familiar beauty

Was it just that I had to say something

Or did the place faintly name the feeling

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The pub is closed, except for the farmers

The thinnest sky, clear of all except trails of our own exhaust. No cover for the moon or the stars or the cold night, and the morning frost which will surely follow.

The simplest words, clear of all inference except of their actual one and only truth; love, life, danger, death.

The barest fields; clear of all except the turned over turfs. No cover for the fox, the hare, the weasel or the shrew, neither for the birds or the scavengers which will surely follow

The simplest words; clear to all, in appearance, in sound; even if not actually always apparent in their meaning.

The morning came as we knew it would, with a white silver covering to the grass, the leaves, the rooftops, and the stubble; all at the mercy of the sun, which will surely follow.

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