Evening thoughts on a fire

He rolled up a paper and chucked
it, watching the off-white turn
bronze and black and smoke and
leap flames.
In his eyes he saw a past, swirling up
on the ringlets of floating ash:
And this was history, and this was now;
a warm glow soon to be extinct -
a hope soon to be melted
in October's cold, cold showers.
And so can go things:
Friendships, loves and hope.
We all hold and tie the rope.

what thought did

it could never have been known
a sharp space between knowing and not
between the things that minds savour
and things that rock the cores
no one could see it although
the signs had flown for years
no one then
said anything

Early mist

The sun yellow, thickly
hugged the ground - all was dank
in the glen; wet leaves
browner and slapped on
in winter's anger, steeped the steps.
A pale mist seemed to grow
and as the ice cleared
thoughts of beaches: imagining
the sun's early heat again.