Wry day. Winter, of you
We’ve had enough. And I have
Had enough of sniping memory
Or strappy agapanthus leaves in sleet
Gone orange at their tips, weak leather.
This charged air has a keen and whitish feel
That stings a little, but has gaiety. So, human
You, I’ll hand you back to your own camouflage
Not as ‘bleak weather’, though. You might.
Intercapillary Places (Events Series)