there were so many tomatoes that january you made jam from a recipe you read like a story it was the most beautiful jam i had ever seen i unscrewed the lid of the small glass pot you gave me and me no fan of jam the fragrance was powerful and it looked like liquid glass it so clear not real at all nearly colourless tinged fragments shining there tomato pips sat jellied and secure happy in the molten glass of that jam perfectly no skins it looked like a wet sculpture or just from the glass blower still hot and cooling in a dry dawn breeze suspended in perfection for all eternity
englassed
unfloating lucent
juicy sun-balloons
suspended in magic
unreal light viscid beads
early farm mornings
sunrise like an overripe tomato
thick cream on ice cold milk
bread so dense it could feed the world
seasofme040915parallaxis
YOU ARE READING
body
Poetrymy personal favourites in one book. these all come from older collections. hardly any of the media belong to me
