Autumn Snails

Autumn days sticking to the window
lazy like snails, lounging
in the morning light, jewels muted glossed over in fog

dreaming around lunch
about the dusty fabric of space
in the curtain folds beyond
a glass horizon: time to move on

looking for the taste of
sun-coloured leaves, the fire
of rain glittering on crisp afternoons
and sliding down the window pane

September Magic

Stay until the first star appears
and follow home the blue hour:
September magic,
seeping into your bones,
up from the ground;
flowing out of your fingertips,
taking flight with the bats

and the reeds sing of
summer returning in its softer shape
muted, transmuted, brilliant in
apple-crisp mornings, gold and red
between the wisened green
and the deepened sky

and there is movement
and something more
alive

looking for
a wider place.

Afternoon Glow

I wish I could capture
the glow of leaves
in a handful of words,
the way the light falls
through afternoon moments,
those five minutes
between curtain lace and rain,
atomic fusion filtering
through space
and atmosphere and eyelashes,
radiating warm feelings
in blue windows between clouds

Ghost Moon

The moon tastes full
in the late afternoon, a ghost
of better days, over fields
almost forgotten

but the grey is turned
to the brink of gold
by the sinking light of spring, heavy
with winter sighs but buried in lace
and pale blue gossamer,
clouded already by traces
of green and life but hollow still as
the fallen trees in the back of your mind