not cloud

not cloud

but a heaven of suns

where 

rise or set

some saint walked

some fiddle-player stroked

bow over string

a bright hollow melody

turned the blue of sky

white with vapour

on a reel of heaven

a dance of sunrise

an air of air

© BH, 2019

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Duncan Chisholm, the fiddle player, posted a sky over Galicia (with hashtag #SantiagoDe Compostella). I thought about skies, fiddle-players and saints walking. I wrote this in reply.

days to come

days to come
you will find out how
today’s days and minutes
laid the odds for our future

Slugabed Binion

Slugabed Binion from her bed by a brown-stained dresser wakes to morning. Wisps of dream still trickle from her teardrop eyes. Her thin, fair hair hides its grey in the time it takes to comb and comb, to brush away the truth. It falls in hatched straight lines and masks her silver with its gold. She sighs and puts a white hand to her face, the pale lip trembles in a memory till the red stick paints today across the edges of her smile.