Saturday, 3 October 2015

To Bring Down The Rain In The Indian Summer

Somehow you have achieved the opposite. 
Unexpected sunlight 
spreads a sane, warm light 
onto the mellow wood 
of the portly belly chest 
of drawers under the window sill of my room. 
Dust from the farm still settles on the top in which I write your name. 
And yesterday I passed the old house 
and your Dad’s music 
that never gets played on the radio 
plays on the radio.




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