simonhlilly

Hours slow and stutter,
Stretch and scatter on the summer hills.
This lent breath pauses.

A sun enthroned throws flame
Against a wide horizon
But melts to mist, cools to blue distant hum.

A flicker swallow dives low.
We barely skim the surface –
A month or two before forgetting
What we came for.

In glistering dark
We become our own ghosts.
In sharp-edged day
Weighed down we are
With longer shadows.