Wintering

I Cannot... and Sunlight Through Raindrops

I Cannot...

I cannot concentrate today;
the curved tip of my mind
shakes in wet breeze
a tall fawn leaf;

tomorrow you must go away;

moss has grown over the floored nettle leaves.

Let's talk of James Joyce and of Yeats,
of times when our minds bathed in tales
of frying kidneys and the way
stream water wakes;

tomorrow you must go away;

moss has grown over the floored nettle leaves.

If global warming continues apace...
it's good that you're traveling autumn-wards,
while I stay wintering to spring,
as now these tears do spring;

for tomorrow you are going away;

moss has grown over the floored nettle leaves.

......................

Sunlight Through Raindrops

Sunlight through raindrops adorns
with sparkles the doubled images,

as it generously fills the two capacious
up-turned blue-plastic tumblers
with undrinkable sky haze
of sweet photonic elixir,

deeps the lemon of the washing-up liquid,
candles the red and green
leaves of the Christmas plant,
looks up the ruffled skirts of carnations,

lights the right of your face,
intent on your notepad there,

casts your still shadow flat on the wall,
with everything else,
and the very frame itself,

as if you leaned against an old post,
among a field of flowers.