Sunday, 16 February 2014


I'm getting used to seeing leaves when
I sleep, blowing around, collecting under gables.
At the sides of the broken down van, no longer
tied to paperwork, piled behind the wheels.

Leaves brought together by birds on headlight mornings,
brought back to the branch where the newborn fledglings
lie beneath tails. It is the same dream as yesterday and the
same leaves in my dreams, brown wads rolled into sterile clumps.

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