three kicks
starting it —
autumn morning

broken clouds
for a moment he remembers
the way home

family squabble
Daddy exhales
on his glasses

Indian summer . . .
the deadhead pruner
returns to her easel

midday moon —
a deaf child caresses
the grand piano

morning fog lifts . . .
lapwings guard a fledgling
amongst grey stones

whistling kettle —
summer postcards
still unanswered

a blurred view
of the bulldozer —
yellow leaves

sketching . . .
a birch leaf blows
into my daughter’s hair

handblown glass —
cirrus clouds curve
around the moon