The tree in my neighbour’s yard
is awake!
The breeze fans her,
sends purple sparks springing
out and down.

The tree in my neighbour’s yard
is green, grown, beautiful.
Curved, supple, tempered and strong.
She answers the warm wind with a quiet laugh.
Her speech is smooth. She does not blush.

The tree in my neighbour’s yard
is moulting, dissipating.
The wind loosens leaves at intervals.
I never see the break: only
one second, the fluttering;
next, the whirling.
I can’t pinpoint the instant of death.

The tree in my neighbour’s yard
is skeletal.
Her structure groans in the icewind.
Gravestone or ghost?
Purple buds wink.

(First published in Pixel Papers)

March 12

Winter? My ears feel cool.
Cool, smooth, dry.
Winter? The air is rainy.
Rainy, breezy, sweet.

Corridor smells: coffee, light, voices.
Bustle, concentrate, murmur.
Keys type. Numbers generate. Diagrams draw.
The beach will be empty; lonely; peaceful.

Winter? My limbs are clothed.
Clothed, covered, safe.
Winter? The city is watered.
Watered, lighted, shined.

Winter is memory. Dark. Wind, rain. Lights in the dark.
Scarves, nights. Enclosed feet.
Winter is then. Buses, splashes. Carpets, boots. Static
plastic chairs.

Music, music!
Winter is better music than this.