Ribbons of smoke rise,
Curl, and let go.
And still they cannot disguise,
The outside autumn blows.

Through blinds the scene tapers,
Shadows stretch and yawn.
Leaves scurry to feel safer,
While the branches blow on.

Auburn orange bursts -
Burns the scene like peeled rind.
It has quenched the summer's thirst,
The timing of such design.

Summer has surrendered this morning,
To find before its eyes,
No warning for no worrying,
Just the prize beneath the skies.

Take a gold and grey photo –
Paint a picture
Your image to me is like the hot sun on Ayers Rock.
My eyes are the clouded blue,
Sometimes green.
Read my words,
You bring the best of them.

We perform tricks for the eye,
She and I,
On a wind that sings
The songs which I have followed my whole life.
Her eyes are the colour of sin -
A sun in the black sky.

Though when her absence inspires me,
Let it be said,
That even with her presence, still
The longing is unfed.

We don’t deal with what waits.
It deals with us.

Here lies that longing,
Still as lifeless as lead.

Ran some water
Turned on the tap
Ran some water on your fingertip.

And wiped the rim of the basin white
Until there’s no stain in sight

And you can say nothing happened,
Because nothing did
But when you look again at the basin white,
It’s brown, and red, and pink, and black,
And longer
And smudgier
And sick.

Today in the garden,
I watched two squirrels
chase each other
up a pine tree.

Spiralling and spiralling
between branches and leaves,
till they reached the top,
and leapt to another tree.
Then spiralled and spiralled down
that old chestnut tree.