I am walking towards

I am walking towards
our moon [our vowel-
ghost suddenly close]

in a field bordered by
moss-hipped trees – it
will see sham gardens

to invigorate sellers &
retail profits – shifting
bricks as households/

Tyre tracks – flat – pair
a rough path due east
to take me to a planet

above skinned boughs
[of ancient woodlands
brushing dry fingers]/

There is a margin for a
man to make more/ I’ll
walk here [‘til he does]

& find a rare landscape
of lunar views & sunset
differences [yet to sell]