I am on that edge of Sussex
where camper vans huddle – I
am a visitor between sprung-
latched gates – On my way [I
drove along tyre-worn roads]
I passed two thick escapees –
I slowed to that pace – Dust
is our unexpected churn with
this heating-up of soil – A
raven keeps me under eye as
I lie on Bo Peep Hill – why?
A nursery rhyme place – Fly-
past of pipits – I wait on a
clipping of the sun – it is
cooler at 18:41 – less songs