Field squared by field follow the white dots of sheep
as the course of low-grounded traintrack cuts hill and bridges water.
Roads lose speed and trucks get lost in breached trees
that dapple shadows on seats as the powerline knights
make an armoured march alongside their electric charge.
A thank you to Pixabay for the image
I met a migrant from a distant land who sang: in a garden beyond lies the wreck of a birdbath, pieces strewn across the sand, its slimed bowl cracked, of
I approach the bed in darkness my head feeling happy for tomorrow there’s that coffee arrangement to look forward to and then…I slow need something there, search the cupboard, bare
From above, a drop, brief as a comma, spaced from the next by a breath of time not cold, not wet, a touch on the wrist and a sound –