amber leaves
on hayloft roofs
glisten with
algid pearls

Vanilla fudge
drips into
treacle toffee,
then the honey
furnace glows
in my psyche,
leaving a brain
of ashen coal.

Five-years-old and school
shoe shopping, I saw a sparkling pair.

They won't last five
minutes my mother declared.

Although puzzled
and disappointed -

clearly and distinctly, I knew
my mother would not deceive me.

Squeezed like toothpaste
into the world,

minty womb fading,
rinsed and spat out.

Pines prickle ruddy cheeks,
I tickle itchy peaks.

Winter's icy fingers snap rime clad branches;
dragging splintered boles to a hoary moonlit hinterland.

Dripping fire,
the oak's toes
are nibbled
by rimy teeth.

The old man's breath
tears russet leaves
from ragged books.