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To 'Mrs. Peters'

The serried waves of evening light
Are stacked like the stubble of harvested corn
The sea of tussocks is tinged with pink light
Cat-lapped with shades of delicate longing.

The adult woman on the balcony is confident
Teasing me gently with her deft humour
Women know the art of such gentle flirting
Charging the night with soft warmth.

And we worship those faces that bless our lives
We dull creatures of earth and mumbling
As even a rock can be worn time
By soft breeze's warm caress.

A La La! The sun dips its yellow spoon
Into this pot of strawberry jam.
I hear the night birds call;
It's time to be going.

Untitled

The Spider's tongue of light
licked the berries on my windowpane
we spin gold droplets on the crazy-paving
cows creak sadly in the shallows of mist

It was a passage of rain
Pouring soup-veils through the cracks
stepping one, two three
the sky is empty

the optimism of memory
forms your face in the birdcalls
damply resounding, waiting for more rain.

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