>How brave those eyes, sidelong and lonely

Tender, stretched knowing and pangs struck
Across an anvil stretched from tip to toe.

Fingers first then greed comb over pelted arms
Posture like John from his Master, many fairer
Deign no greater good, abandon no lower canvas.

After disappearing, the blinking coastal air pants
Fever inhaling the deeper reds of the little girl’s sunset
No one lonely: ‘The still sand warmer on the beach.’



The dog dashes past
What fills the basket
Or the tall red bin
Itself, a matter of time
Breaking morning light
Our hours so fast, so
Suddenly ataxic. His claws
Clanking on the tile floor
Nail prospective, withering son.