Monday, 12 December 2011

First frost, late

First frost, late

The winter when it
comes brings frozen flames
and glow borrowed from the needle
strewn floor

The sloes have gone
bruised, lost,
chalky skin darkening at a rubbing thumb
and before them the blackberries
and the hairy hips and the hawthorn

It will be months now
before I can find things in hedges

The other day there were mushrooms
but they weren’t quite right

Nothing happens

Trees still have
their leaves and the air
its fug

But the frost crunches in the morning
and the sky is huge and slate grey
or else bright
bright blue

at night there are
some stars

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