Roads and Eyes

Roads we travel on, eyes half open,
Lulled by the rattle of wheels.

Eyes we fix on the division
Between here and there:
Spattered panes in bus windows;
And the passing verges blur,
The faces of fellow travellers
Hang transparent, drowned in shadow.

September Light

In September light,
Before the leaves turn
Summer holds its breath.

Sun sits low on the skyline
And shines under the red 

Reflection of its setting.

Water Under the Bridge

Water under the bridge:
The dead and gone;
Shades of meaning
No longer important.

First there was water
From rain or snowmelt,
Running underground,
Resurfacing, a spring
Out of bare rock.

Nightscape

Full moon hung on a blue-grey sky;
Trees in distance black against it;
Nothing moved in the clear air,
No night birds, no clouds to speak of.

The moon’s aura silvering the grey,
Cast light on the outbuildings,
Filled the yards with ghosts, shone
On the rubble roads and track-ways
Winding up my hill.

A horizon’s paper-thin edge cut the timeless night in two.

Curved Air

Spin the world on its axis. On its mahogany table,

The slightest touch will turn a globe of antique wood.

Spin it with the sweep of a hand: an idle gesture 

While contemplating other aspects of the day.

Spin it and then go; there are better things 

To be done. Meanwhile the entire planet turns.