Mother

First I brought you petals from collapsed roses And you would hold them wet and full of dew And marvel with me the drops reflecting Shifting clouds across a happy sky. You would colour shells, throw and catch, Dry-run obstacle courses, play chase On hazy, butterfly-full, yawning days. I’d hand you pictures painted Pots I’d … Continue reading Mother

Cobwebs

Low-slung nets made visible by dew Appear suddenly one morning. Trampolines of soft breath And parachute precision. Ghostly nets lassoed Between teasels, while the see-saw Song of the Chaffinch, slides Along the rigging. Hammock-heaven. Twigs become cats-cradles, and every bush, Every stalk is wired up For spiders to go-ape.