simonhlilly

Opening out.
We saw a bright place:
Summer stars, birdsong.
The language of a landscape.

—

Bright Spring day.
For a moment
Nothing else matters.

—

Home through snow.
Getting lost –
Other people’s footprints.

—

Winter trees:
You can see
what they are thinking.
Weighing the memories
of years and seasons.
Squeezed thin
between the bright veins of light
And its decay.

—