Wednesday, 23 September 2015

Rag Remnants

And now the leaves will go,
Already frost-damaged in January.
Here are those sly, black birds
Gliding nearby.
They’ll peek and peck
Until the shivering stalks of branches,
Quivering cold,
Lose all their early buds.

And what’s to come?
Rag remnants, perhaps,
All torn to lace.

The ducks are flying over Deptford.
Their quacks blend in with traffic noise,
Small shadows
In an amber sky.
The city skyscapes
Show distant crags in an endless sea.
All is grey and sinister
Just on the edge of churning.

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