, , , ,

a reproachful mist

drenched the day in grey,

defeating the sun,

deadening all,

colour, sound,

subduing the landscape

as a cloth around the knocker

on the door of the bereaved.


it lingered languidly

into the afternoon

like an overnight party guest

draped extravagantly

across a three-seater sofa.

outstaying his welcome,

lounging about the living room

the day after the night before

as if expecting something more –

coffee or breakfast

or hair of the dog.


and the oatmeal sky ached

as if with the memory of rain

and the summer was suddenly,

irretrievably, lost.