Saint Brigid's Day —
the clank of buckets
at the holy well /nd

a thicket of blackthorn
spattered in bloom /jec

scrapbooking
I paste the child's drawing
of a tadpole /pp

tongue tip tense
he practices the knot /nd

soft as shadows
on the edge of night ...
the summer moon /jec

from an aircraft window
mountains of cloud /pp

* * *

Mussolini
and his blackshirts
swarm the streets of Rome /jec

first hard frost
and all my weeds ashrivel /nd

in the strange house
the electric blanket
smells of dust /pp

playing and replaying
that mpeg smile /jec

what use to her
some score card where
she matches sin for sin? /nd

lovers' scenic lookout:
the path never walked /pp

over a case
a pair of experts
deconstruct the future /nd

a squirrel skitters
round an outsize nut /jec

earth's rim
the full moon hangs
in blueblack solitude /pp

for a moment the thatcher
forgets he is here /nd

* * *

flashing lights
and the train whistle's
sawtooth doppler shift /pp

a wasp to's and fro's
between the faded tents /nd

scribbled in the
margins of Das Kapital
her "things to do" /jec

quiet, so quiet now
the thread of my knitting /pp

a skein of mycellia
tunnel through
the warming earth /jec

spring rain washing over
hopscotch squares /pp