passing traffic...

              through old glass their lights

                        shifting colours & shadows

work bound—

drizzle in wind

smarts my face

                   under clear water...

                   for a moment the coot

                   becomes a black dart

open honey pot...

a line of ants march in

and out in parallel

                      swell of the river—

                      a few raindrops cling

                      to each bare branch

at the day’s end...

by degrees the sun

turns the houses gold

     melancholy day—
     on the concrete ground

     a dry shrivelled leaf

      still clear day—

      a sudden gust frees

      a deluge of leaves

local restaurant...

I choose to be seated

by the goldfish tank