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The climb out

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Winter poked a pointed claw at my chest but the water had said:  come, there's still time; it parted with a crinkling chime, glassier, and fire-fish circled my heart, submerged; dutiful wine while my fingers, touching the crone, knew the future cold. Two geese, huge, shouted from a nearby roof: heat can only be made by you now, fools! Kicking mud crystal, I knew this truth churning in my bone cage and I spun: gathering my fluid self tight to me tighter than memory, resigned that blue teeth were coming, wise, stolid, dry lace to claim the lake and I must begin  the climb out.
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October

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Magpies shaped like sports-day whistles turn invisible past the rooftops, turn echo. Plastic sheets on summer chairs inflate their lungs ready to haunt-rattle in the more callous wind.  I am chin up — clutching the sun against my ribs heart to fire, heart to fire.
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September rain sun

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There is water on the wind; making me feel I'm anywhere but the city — that Cornwall cliff with the Highland cows or about to swim wild It is still September  and I sit, legs up on the chair on the edge of elements  a little longer.
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Raptor

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He's out at height— the red kite,  talons unchangeable. But at that altitude, poets could rename him; a bat-thorn black tattoo on cloud-bonded skin, feathers long gone, wyvern.
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It's quiet in the courtyard

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The wind isn't speaking today. Clouds have patched-up the sky. It is not a day of finding-out things. But it is the day  a single sparrow took up the space  of the no-birds, when I felt one brush of sunlight on my neck and it felt Spring-kind from a long time ago. And I wrote letters into tomorrow's hands; empty is an invite  to place a beautiful word facing outwards. 
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Flying

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Chocolate powder mountains,  heaped — I could kick into the clouds. Yet sky sugar tastes slow — impatience eats miracles.
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On the crest of the palm

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Sparrows bank the sun — a swirl-nest descent of song and embers; pebble-puff chests mass  on darkening green fingers. They call their sand sisters and brothers, each mouth smothering gold; so wonderfully loud as the dark downs — these raucous stars in skeleton-strong hands. 
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