It takes time

to sling a stone

to fling a spear

to wield a club

to blow a dart

to shoot an arrow

to pull a pistol

to fire a canon

Who’d want to steal dew?

Maybe not me, maybe not you?

Then again, if you’d discovered

that dewdrops were heaven’s pearls

(the precious spittle of the stars

If I lie

on a page

am I a free word?

If I fly

in a cage

am I a trapped bird?

If I cry

with eyes of green

am I a weeping leaf?

I found an autumn necklace in the hedge,

silken threads, strung with tiny beads.

Yet when I touched a strand it fell,

leaving only scattered tears.

See her moonlight

bloom from thick forest

leaving the ground

plucking words from the stars

half heather mosses

deep purple wherries

In need of some repair,

six point seven billion

careless owners.

Lovely views of the galaxy,

possible renovation project.

Owners seek exchange

She had a box full of taffeta, ermine,

shoes made of petals, those of a rose.

Satin, worn thin beneath copper trees,

a deep scarlet hood on a wolfish coat.

The cold is solid,

hard against thighs,

steel to toe.

In the mirror of the gas fire

my face distorts,

thin, too long.

We giggle,

I have your smile

when I look in the mirror I see you

I have your laugh

So when I chuckle I hear you

I have your humour

when I’m sharing jokes I owe it to you