11 Jan 2012
91 views
In a cold light we
Clunkered uphill
Spilling each basket
Of newborn raisins
We paused. Then drew
Tasting an explosion
Of sunlight on the tongue
Smell it
Twist it
Shake it
Spit it
Empty it
Shine it
Look in at it:
A sphere translucent
Of flotsam floating
Now still;
Now spinning;
A motion receding
Of summer encaged.
_
Original content from: Poems
Also from London
