Wither?

Someone brought me a hurt swift
that I laid in a box
in the hope he’d recover;
but he slipped away
through a hidden crack
‒ so I laid what he’d left
in the earth to wither.


Heart's Journey

We travelled all day
through  country
close to my heart;

then I read poems
that traced
my heart's journey.


Dance

Last night
we talked and drank wine
and you and I danced

as you settled into the old house
through the keyhole
of a bit of ritual

that made you feel at home
at
last.


Brief Passing

As the brown leaves
thicken
on the paths,

powder underfoot,
my heart is heavy
with mortality

 – with the brief passing
of
things.

 - Norman Morrissey