Wash day

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that beauty would be given shine

a rosary, an oath. The sheen on time

Each day rising through veils

so lazy blood is stirred to acknowledge life

and daybreak comes with virtue

A guarantee that love will whisper

in your ear, if you can find some harmony

some gentle way to deal with pain

and wrap your heart around the fear

that threatens to constrict the flow of blood

which surges in a questioning tide

all around

And all around

Begin again. Purge that fear

Accept the rhythm and go

barefoot repeatedly through the cycle

of light and dark

naked as your last thought

False premise

Time passenger

Not bitter.  Not Gone

Not Resting In Peace

Not wasted. Not forgotten

Not lost in space

The atoms I carry

Their candour. Their ignorance

Tick Box. Tick Box

Seconds out

The regimen of folding a tie. Compliance

All but forgotten now. I know

Sun dance on jewelled water

Beauty broken by complaisance

The drip away of time

Until the flood

And then the view. Obsolete

A spoil. A wasteland. A derision

I am coming to claim

My false inheritance. My legacy

Please locksmith

Cut me that key

Prepare the plaque. A eulogy

Before I am gone

Devon. Arch. View.

Devon. Arch. View. pic

lichen on old stone

it’s yellows and greens

in a texture of remembrance

add casual beauty to the aperture

of an arched window through which

one solitary sheep moves by inches

like a maggot across the sward

behind, though filling all the space

a clock ticks encircling me in the view

Bound by knowledge I struggle with

and anchored by all sorts of gravities

I accept an affinity

with that accumulating texture on the wall

and look up to see four more sheep

Where I sit, this place that faces

an old stone wall, ragged and thick

which was the slaughter-house of New Barn Farm

Outside, rough flagstones were the perimeter

of a killing zone. A way out of life

But now, swaying between the tick and tock

I count sheep. Innocent in the view