In downy mist

In downy mist

the robin sits,

repeating patterns of notes,

practising sweetly.

His end trill I know

from a robin at home –

it must be the fashion

among robins this season.

In downy mist

the robin sits

practising sweetly 

his song.

Married couple at evening

Elbows on a low leather pouffe,

bum warm before a fire

she’s stretched in catlike twist

eyes closed

ears pricked

hearing

the rain

stop,

her husband’s hand shift

on the page

where his poem is coming

into being.

Clouds

Flat-bummed clouds

sit on the air

as if it were

a pane of glass.

 -  Silke Heiss