a single gossamer spider-spun thread glints violet in the morning

plomp

the satisfying sound of Silver, tired for now of her windowsill vigil, landing on her four neat paws

driving home from Northampton

power lines drawn by a child in black felt tip
bisecting red-orange-yellow-green-blue-indigo-violet
nothing can dull the hazy love-saturated colours

on waking

my dreams dissolve like homeopathic tablets on my tongue

breathing space

What I forgot to say on Monday

Nobody has told her she's beautiful.

the cherry tree has wept at the weight of its beauty

Three teenage girls, one boy. The two with skinny legs in jeans take crisps from the boy. The one with black leggings pulls down her luminous pink top, repeatedly. She cannot cover her shame.

I sit at the empty station. A man arrives. He used to work for the railways. He says it's hard to make friends in London. He's visited Edinburgh, Spain, all over the place. He says it's hard to make friends in London. Our train arrives, we get on, separate carriages. I carry him with me.

Fatty has been in the wars, his ear all torn...

blink

a miniature son of the sun clings on whenever the world goes dark

Walking meditation

Fatty follows me round and meows, every eleventh step I stoop to fuss him.

so many different birds, I put my identification book down and look and look

stepping outside at dusk

daisies glow on the lawn like the crumbs of stars

the last jar of homemade blackcurrant jam (I might as well eat it)

the same album over and over and over I cannot get enough

on the dance-floor my happiness radiates out
other dancers turn and catch my smile