fictionalising that pain
only in writer’s quill remain
inkwell daily welling over
one that never need run dry
on pristine sheets shall ever cry
there a field blanketed in clover
under pregnant sky contain
descends yon seasonal rain

leeward of a lean-to hill
iambic cadence thrill
amber flecked lemonade
morsels don pleated frill
bring on tend’rest brocade
while at windward dale
wizened cheeks go pale

all have gone far and wide
there, a fair distance away
where no eye spy nor stray
only hindsight dare confide
even sproutlings coy in Spring
no fresh joys will they bring
still from Sun, buds cannot hide

just like open sunlit skies above
which kept our days ever bright
whose bare-all gaze shoved us
to sanctuary from blistering glare

we always kept our shadows in sight

tents and those world tree ash boughs
carried us to roman candles of night
matsuri: our own non-roman holiday --
summer may be gone but these remain

by the sea face in face
a child’s visage open
fraught in fear, freedom and friendship
predators, salt, sand
waves crash, rocks cut
chest crushing breaths
from watery garden sea sponge plucked
beside shells and stones
by a farcical display
feigning, fawning, flaunting: fearful now
petulant sand in shoe
soaks nothing better
no return, no exchange

frost laced teeth of cracked leather
course through bare back thighs
frigid sheen of yellowed ivory
caress tentative fingertips
nose, cheek and ear
incline then enquire
old smell, old sound
ancient piano sing

Three years, three months and three days
Perhaps it’s a random amount of time
But in three hours this flight will take off
Gotta take three minutes to freshen up
And look away for for three seconds
No worrying now about free pushbacks
Let’s put up memories with thumbtacks
All adds up in life’s measured advances