The days are getting colder now

And the sun rises further

To the north. I still go out:

the human world is

shutting down

cog by cog;

and the shiny green acorn

pushes on regardless.

On the fringe of a bare, flat, dusty paddock

I roll out my mat on an island of green

I can barely remember the goats

running wild through the streets

of a Welsh seaside town;

dry grass prickles the balls of my feet

as I tread from house to hammock hungry

for silence and solitude

That night you played and I sang our old favourites-

the ballads, the rock songs, the hits from the musicals-

I sit in the shade

of a seventy-foot crown,

pondering branches, leaves and trunks,

Sixteen claws clatter

up and down the hall

two hours before

first light: a body