The dead rat next to the log pile is starting to dissolve.

A small glass vase with a fluted top, picked up in the garden centre for £3.99, it'll bring modest posies of flowers to my desk all year - just there - one purple crocus, one white, one five-pointed miniature narcissus.

the room strains at the weight of the relationship
or rather where the relationship is trying to take us

prrrreeeeeshoooo

(Fatty sneezing)

On the back page of a children's book, faint score-lines of very neat handwriting:
'Dear diary, I am so UPSET because'

a good job done

pull on the nettles
find their deeper roots
fat and relucant to rise

unexplained down saturday

the day is stained in grey

burn, two days later

the dark red gash on the smooth white skin is a shock

four ladybirds on the windowsill, three red with sixteen black spots, one black with four red spots, persuaded onto a birthday card and tipped out into the wind

walking her granddaughter home from school, her beehive is white and smooth, her stillettos tight

the collared dove crouches on the birdtable like a grown man in a play-house

a pigeon pecks at a pile of puke

walk to a bench in a frozen landscape. speak to your friend. walk home. feel the life burning in your ears.

talk by a retired therapist

he talks about a child who wasn't held, his eyes well up. he talks about a mother who's child was burnt, his eyes well up. he talks about his work, the work he's loved, the people he's travelled with, the healing taken place, his eyes well up. when this happens the hundreds of us listening well up, with pain, with recognition, with gratitude.

pub lunch

the chips are nicer. there are two new australian lads in the kitchen.

Goodbye beloved mug

Tea is seeping through the crack, staining it mahogany.
I'm lucky, I know this sip will be the last time I kiss this lip.

Pigeons

The sun is blazing. He follows her across the bridge and they jump onto the bench next to me. She watches, feigning disinterest. He struts round in circles, fluffing his feathers and cooing a deep purring song. He dances for her, and for me, and for the man on the other side who looks up from his crossword puzzle. They fly away, we exchange a happy look.

an old man slumped in the crook of a wall turns back into white plastic bags stuffed with empties

triangle

power cable
washing line
fading aeroplane-trail

the first leek neck; a croquet hoop, the stalk as thin as thread

the long spiked shadows of fir-tree limbs decorate a sunlit fence

plastic rubbish bin

it lies at the mouth of the gravel drive
kicked over with the lid flung open, empty inside,
the exact blue-grey of a weighted-with-rain winter sky

snowdrops huddle in clumps like gossiping nuns

a robin through binoculars, chest glowing in the darkening afternoon, he dips his body forward and takes black sunflowers seeds into his mouth

Yesterday's snow is grey and blurred against the hot white jabs of "Snowstorm" heather.

In the middle of the underpass a television has been beaten to death - twisted metal innards scattered around a pile of shattered glass. Outside a family of ducks nap near the edge of the water with their beaks tucked under their wings as if nothing has happened.

thwock! - a lump of wet snow chooses this moment to fall from next door's roof

in the cupboard, two fat white buddhas - each perching on an ancient tin of paint

a crow sits on every tenth fence post, watching for snow clouds