a shadowed poem becomes less

first light shares itself

and the wind that enjoys

slapping fences and dust-

bin lids breathless now as it

collapses, head bowed

grasses can sleep now

acquiring eerie stillness

laments are being thrown

from untidy nests, foxes

sleek as copper return from

their blood baths their

butchered outfits their

stealth night’s out, a

cockerel’s head in a mouth

fadeables are doing what

they are best at and fade

well, courtships in the dark

return to their marital lairs,

some are filled with stars

one has a phantom to pass

on, and daylight scratches upwards

gulls are petty arguments

there are pretty deaths in

the assortment of hedges,

pearlers are decadent and

hang in dribbles, handfuls of

in their eight legged garden palaces

of lace, a troubled moth separates

rehearsals of birds climb

into airiness, climb up towards

the daffodil painted sun, and

all i can do, is to wake from

these cotton theatres of this

duvet grave, the dream’s

fastening loses its odd hands

all

foxglove towns are

lay-by intriguing -

earnt towers of bees

and leaning un-rung bells

fatigues of hands, gnarlments

of crowns, armfuls are leading their boughs

thoughts typewriter fast leaving

comments in the breadths of the mind

a constellation once where the dew

hotel sung, it ran blazes thru hair and -

thru stem, a pilot knows his honey

and parlours it well, it grew into self

shouted stabbed stars out, i labelled

each door every time each swelled

i dream in the layers of fox stealth

furnace myself all colours, odour’s stale wealth

drift them in eclipses of bliss, a nearby

man folds his gaze into someone else

a graft of birds simply overhead

where the wires try to confiscate

the deeps are blues and are seldom

asked to be lit, leaves for sighs and the solace of-

it all