this year more oranges
will stay on the orange tree
a little jar on the shelf
– sugar and globs of morning sun
this night is full of sound
trilled calls undercut
by wings and embers
compositions apprehended only
once others drop away
my lines cannot hold the weight
of this word ‘perception’
(your word)
it floats in
strange ground, an environment
emerging or stepping off a boat
moments before the elevator
arrives. In Cambridge
rippled green light
in the backs which connect
river to sky
late telegrams bounces across cobbles
time-travels from the besotted 70s
air unscrolls
from airmail packets, pages of brass
flagons, un peu français
making its shape known to vowels
often corralled between hedgerows
don’t forget your pencil box
of unused colours, a way of pretending
to thatch the haystack (likewise French inflected)
like Bonnard prints for explaining
what can never really be held
living in the edges of a postage stamp
three handkerchiefs of lawn,
actual walls,
open then close the gate
but keep some thoughts
in a pale blue envelope
flecked harbour through a spout
the voice inscribes itself
on the ground of other-narratives
reach for a different colour
turn the engine
looking at the slow moving cars
able to picture under the asphalt
this stuff – a lemon in the boot
tea drenched light
falling on the blush scrub
you stand and make
a point, a perspective