it is not hard work really

writing stuff, not physically,
curled up in the big settee.

opened the window behind me,
talked to pretoria, prettily.

not hard work, packing stuff,
to go, unless big and unwieldy.

midsummer yesterday, it was
not difficult to see it through, warm
and sunny.

dreaming of war tired me.

yellow star houses.

sbm.

star