19 September 2013
November over, a toadstool has pushed its way through brittle-sweet leaves.
Fairies dance beneath it, swinging garlands of red and orange berries above their heads.
If you were here you’d see them too; you would not want us to stop the clocks.
19 September 2013
I will bring you a Balthazar of Champagne
encased in last winter’s icicles,
21 October 2013
They danced like sow thistles to rhythms of
time and wind,
16 November 2013
The girl has been under the bed for three hours, but she doesn’t mind. She has to be sure everyone has gone, and besides, she’s spent a lot of time under beds. She’s learnt not to sneeze in the dust that gathers there; learnt to be still; learnt to be invisible.
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