Birdsong at max chat early evening
a celebration of the day or warning of the sunset
traffic knowingly passes below, out of view
its obscured random hum masked by the constant chirp
a vista across the manipulated matt greens and tasselled dull yellow
towards the mid-roof pool with unoccupied loungers, regimented
beyond to a sprawl of creams and sand, horizon
sea at calm, no longer bullied by gales and gulls
a soiled fish and chip newspaper cumulus
blurring charcoal and off white, crumpled, hangs motionless
a point of reference, not on any chart
autumn rays that had warmed flesh and soul earlier
illuminate western facades as they lose their grip, falling
premature symbols awake, bringing forth a neon blaze
later, their turn to lead us towards the next day.
No comments:
Post a Comment