Something has set fire..
Here, in the sun, I tally their fruit, counting the oranges, among a thousand leaves..
I am hemmed in by rhododendrons and poor-fruit rusty brambles,
Welcome to Ugly your new home in the world..
In my fake Eames chair, in the new bay window..
Behind my eyes, becalmed in bed, as the rooks clatter in the lime trees..
It was a photo (they no longer curl or crack, these moments captured, now kept immaculate)..
The more we say the less we do, we read the news, reading nothing new..