2
Bird tracks to the water’s edge:-
a little space between reeds
where a bank slopes gently to mud.
Clumsily pushing through tufted sedge,
watch beetles flick into flight;
mown grass gusts sudden sparrows
across the river as I lift
willow branches aside to look
down at ripples spreading
a wake
on the noon black glass -
memory waves sleepwalking in cities
-autumn has found its way
into the combustion chamber of a motorbike -
universe of words
whacked with a dead stick through bracken,
evening withering under slate clouds.
Standing still, looking back
uneasily
remembering scents,
the sad communication of a wardrobe,
footsteps up and down stairs.
..
