Thursday, 12 September 2013
For Simon September came to us like cold Indians Phantom globes of breath chugging like locomotives as we travel, separately, amongst Autumn, and her hearty grieving leaves The lemoncurd curls of laurel On English soil with heads in a furious Jupiter mist Trying to forget the goblin frost that lurks under the prettiest leaves. The lips of Winter reach even the iron core of Earth, to kiss, to enchant the dreaming night of that season that reaps and moans while We pluck twigs like teeth from the brown gums of oak Building nests of conversation of memory to overwinter our friendship Somewhere warm and full of moving, dancing pictures that reveal what once was, fleetingly. Our bones whisper "Sleep, now, sleep" Retinas playing deceit of that sorrowful sunny refrain for the paralysing vulgar heat of Summer is surely plucked for good. Did we open our mouth wide as heron's wings to Swallow that Sun hard to remember all the drunken elation of light to suddenly find what the soaring kestrel seeks a satellite hunt for minute motion in the dormant grasses below that woefully wave.