there are no pins,
no easy way to fix
some things.

this time, we wait
to see the outcome.

mended plates aren’t funny,
scaffold a life.

don’t laugh, it may
happen to you.

listen, repeat the
random insects.

stitch another way.

sbm.

warm, a sudden breeze.

as you like it.

from the valleys they came,
to act, entertain, travelling
troupe.

eye to eye, interaction, plenty
of action, and oh,
the costumes all pretty
in that green place,
with a hey
and a ho.

birds sang, ants crept.

we laughed, sang, danced the lane
forgetting the path.

it was, as we
like it.

sbm.

late june, it is a darker green,
jasmine climbs the window,
storms brew, we are older now.

we have watched the house,
is he leaving now? is this that darker
place?

plans for the forest fell apart, with apathy,
lack of repellant. we will try again,
tonight.

it is a darker place.

sbm.

left the ring in procession,
silently walked the track.

dust rose, the distance grew.

out of sight , talked in code and rhythms.

a train passed, gulls flew the heat haze.

on return, no one spoke.

sbm.

to some one else,

will they fall upon flesh,
rip it, rearrange,
leave to sleep?
maybe it were their rags.

handle with care,
small eggs hold with love,
rearrange tenderly, add cake.

we saw hedd wyn, yesterday.

sbm.

a hot day at the mill,
fans cooled us, wool
sat heavy.

heat rose from the car park,
we busied.

made enough dogs.

i have no photograph,
the usual line.

sbm.

slowly.

passed the drawing studio, old general shop,
passed the chapel, you know who lives there.

passed the man outside his flat, sunbathing, pinkly

passed the lad, kicking d
ust under the railway.

days passed.

sbm.