While the light and the leaves
are about their interchange of twinkle and tremble,
dissemble and wink, pleasantries driven
by the cold silk breeze - in such quiet interrogation
you would lean-in to the whisper -
though it's plain to see the thorn is yellowing,
beyond them, Hephaestus and his dog
are busy as barker and tinker can be
in a sorry Covid town.
The burliest midges dance high
in the lee of a tree
happy, in their throbbing ballrooms,
that sky-fling of wayward jostling clouds allow
this Merlin gleam, this dash of magic
in their lumbering stampede to be there,
wherever they are not;
the pear falls into my air-gesture
and the bite,
the bite finally,
meets lusciousness, dissolving.
.......................................
A silk is also a barrister in the UK, re stanza one.
Media - have some moving clouds to ooh and ah at.