Tumbled down rubble
pushed then mounted
into the truck's buckets,
driven through sodden mud
and away from centuries of familiar standing,
do memories join your journey,
shadows of past existence and echoes of sweat,
of worry?
The bones of a building
shell shallow and crusted
without soul.

Like snowflakes
the lace
mesh of net
curtain drapes
the window
that admitted your entrance.
You and the wind
to fan flames of a smokey fire,
giving tongues to the chimney troath.
There you now sit
between
gossamer and pane
wondering how it's shut
against elements raw
puzzling the porthole with paw
through which you wish to explore
to chase whisked leaves
and shadows fleet.
The window opens no more.

Never known an oak to grumble about politics
or a cloud question its faith
never known a worm worried about its looks
or a hedgehog do an early morning walk of shame
never known a pebble craving attention
or a flower seeking revenge
never known a puddle to scream in anger
or a star seeking another to blame

The memory came as sure as night’s silence
between the hours
when sane people sleep
and the flush of dawn was yet to be considered.
Fleeting memory on the peripherals
the distinctive recall like a snuffed candle’s scent when no candle can be seen.
For what purpose does it still serve?
The sharp ache of it has long since faded
to a dull throb,
and then only when you try to clutch it
and face it.
scrutinize it once again.  
The memory mellows with a faint aftertaste of oak aged whiskey from a tumbler long dry in the depths of advancing echoes
from its footsteps
from its footsteps
from its footsteps

Cast her head back
she's got a neck for kissing
through nicotine fog and neon high
when the drinks are flowing.
can spend a time there
enjoying and forgetting.
Just a spot needing scratching.
It's lacking affection
lost to notions of devotion.

Stepping sober in the land of the living when the tinsel of a night has settled
the taxi off loads you
to a chilly morning kerb.
There awaits a hollow echo of the hallway
when the door latch slots home.
cool bed catches your fall.
No arms, nobody, no 'good mornings' with a kiss
nobody missed

The turn of summer's end
already caused  ailing leaf's stems
to tremble and quiver
one last hand, one last trailing touch before a final
release on high wind,
the leaves descend
transcend in their death
back to the earth which gave birth
a bittersweet rejoice
as colours and ribs fade to dust
and return to soil
to feed the tree nutrients for life.