Incandescence on the mount, a thumbprint of sun sat
on the summit as swallows bob through haircut branches.
a certain someone alone with grass;
his thoughts are moths his skull of wool.
nature’s cut to frames, still her light restores his centre.
flakes of fairy dust feather my eyelids—
sharing design, or something intimate
to imbue and bond below a yew and imbibe
chimney smoke escapes the terraces below
and
wind of near seasons knock the day.
