It is summer
and I am ill

I am listening
to the blues
to Robert Johnson
and wondering
about crossroads
and old roads
and intersecting paths
and the old ways
chants heard
in lush green leaves
and blessings

It is summer
and I am surrounded
by roses
and lavender
and geraniums
and hanging baskets
with unknown flowers
over the sides
like a floral invocation
to unnamed goddesses

The wind
in the afternoon
It no longer
plays havoc
with my curls
They’re gone away now
wherever it is
illness takes them

At night the air stills
stars sparkle
and glitter
like you once said
my eyes did

It is summer
and I am surviving

and renewal
and relentless sickness
and time
in all its
temporary majesty

20 June 2018
on the Sussex Coast


the fragility of summer

Lingering Rose

We create
And recreate
Every single day

And sometimes
Just sometimes
The heart of us
The good in us

Like that late rose
Hanging for dear life
Onto that fragile vine

When all the other
Roses have fallen
To grace the lavender
Patiently waiting below
Creating something new
A sudden floral sculpture
That silently moves
With a breeze
Just on the edge
Of cold, a foretelling
Of the magic to come

But that happens later
Today a rose refuses
To stop blossoming
And hopes she’ll be
For her beauty
Even when time
And circumstance
Cause her to wither
And eventually die

But not today
Today in this
Too brief moment
She is merely
A lingering rose
Trying so hard
To be beautiful

Hanging on to life
And the slight chance
She’ll catch your eye
And illicit
The smallest sigh