Sunday, 3 February 2013

untitled (winter poem, Bromley House)

on winter afternoons
the sun sets on the underbellies of pigeons
as they rise over city roofs
a sun-dial sleeps in the shade of brick walls
covered thickly with naked-flowered jasmine
nobody steps out into the garden
to find the hour has not come
or long passed
nobody rises with the pigeons
nobody sets with the sun
sleeping by the sun-dial
the hour came and passed
long ago the naked-flowered jasmine
covered the brick walls

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