dorset countryside

we used to sit the rise and think of this.

drive the evening hunting the blue flax fields .

found and waded the poppies outside the dyke, then

worked the red thread.


danced the lane, brown boots through dust.

look at me.


i sometimes sit and think of this, sometimes dream

in bad, often in yellow.

rape covers the land in places, my eyes smarting.

so once again we speak in crosses. i

think the hanky may be yours.