a shadowed poem becomes less
first light shares itself
and the wind that enjoys
slapping fences and dust-
bin lids breathless now as it
collapses, head bowed
grasses can sleep now
acquiring eerie stillness
laments are being thrown
from untidy nests, foxes
sleek as copper return from
their blood baths their
butchered outfits their
stealth night’s out, a
cockerel’s head in a mouth
fadeables are doing what
they are best at and fade
well, courtships in the dark
return to their marital lairs,
some are filled with stars
one has a phantom to pass
on, and daylight scratches upwards
gulls are petty arguments
there are pretty deaths in
the assortment of hedges,
pearlers are decadent and
hang in dribbles, handfuls of
in their eight legged garden palaces
of lace, a troubled moth separates
rehearsals of birds climb
into airiness, climb up towards
the daffodil painted sun, and
all i can do, is to wake from
these cotton theatres of this
duvet grave, the dream’s
fastening loses its odd hands