He’s waiting outside
for the dog’s output to arrive.
He’s bleary eyed
it’s three or half-five
in the AM.
The sky is a diseased yellow-grey
pragmatic and starless.
A giant pine leans over the yard intrusively.
It scatters dead brown pine needles
which block the shed’s plastic guttering.
Wind gets high –
God’s breath animates tree
Ever-so, ever-so prettily
Unprosing our scene completely
Unprosing our scene completely.
White light prods through blinds
From five or even earlier.
It is light all day and dusk settles at half-nine.
In Highgate Wood
Horse-chestnuts and oaks,
Their trunks bare for fifty feet then branch-antlered,
Are dense with far-away leafs,
Each leaf of the canopy is gilded and
The sky beyond is blanched indigo-
They combine in almost floral design.
Unblocked rays warm the earth
And paint in streaks the wooden fences
That create the wood’s perimeter.
Light exposes spiderwebs briefly-
Elusive, they shimmer then disappear.
Dense mist hangs around late into the morning,
It clings to the skin in beads of cold and foreign sweat.
The mist exposes spiderwebs that
A privet hedge that looked so neatly clipped
Is everywhere rheumed with spidersilk.
Like leafless deadfalls these traps
Are now useless- their covert nature was everything.
When did it get so cold?
The summer was warm and long,
Its prolonged heat left us unprepared.