In the evening darkness
You tap recent grace notes.
Singing moments more clearly
Than the instant of a bulb.
Coffee smooth as an unguent
Heralds near satisfactions.
The air dilutes her presence
Until a key click blooms with return.
If we shared a language
The words would still be silent.
Scents of slow time shadowing,
This longer minded now.
.
.
.
In green uniform,
like a paramedic,
steady by the Longhaugh.
His blue gloves,
a delicate lift,
as if a child,
or treasured pet.
Hedgehog prickles,
held but quiet:
a moment of morning stillness.
A three wheeled bug,
wheels up unreliant,
bob bob bobin.
Turned over ambitious,
struggling coleopteric.
Where Pitkerro
buries the Dichtie.
Rocked in rhythm
eased to roll over:
a familiar performance of resurrection.
Three sunlit swans
rising low
over Eden’s bridges.
Past long gone Hungry Horse,
a chestnut mare
watches her foal dance.
In North Street,
a small man crowned
by a large stetson.
While others yawn,
nursing coffee:
the casual contraposito of youth.
.
.
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