The bulge of summer

April 21, 2021 § 4 Comments

The bulge of summer gone

last night

in a flurry

the leaves gathered


like a flock of dip stained sheep into corners of untidy gardens

under hedges of blackthorn spikes.

Now a place for beetles

to breathe slow

to play dead.

Winter crocuses naked

bending with no backbone

a blue botanical mistake.

Even the stars shiver

blink unsure

casting a weak shine on an empty field where slaughtered lambs once leapt

twisting in the air.

Only the young mothers remember that.


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