Noon sun shines low, diffuse through cloud;
a white crevasse of light
gathers itself again into a blinding ball
gilding soaked surfaces, gifting
a mirrored virulence to damp roads.
That breeze, which gently animates the hedge
has sheepishly returned
and so I sit as ever did with cup
upon a child's cagoule upon a chair
to bring you this - you who never flee
the nets of words I cast upon this scene
(as grieving siren traumatises by).
The solstice now is but one day away;
yet here at autumn's end
I still pretend
to summer's Fisher-throne.
..