Sliding

A gradual shadow still
safeguards last night’s
frost [shields it] & sets
me extant learnt tasks
in Secondary Sciences

[where crystals melted
when exposed & blood
seeped under my cuts] –
I sit below this tree – in
breaths I count time [I

exhale a plume – up to
emptiness] – Did Solon
create true democracy
or just write poetry? In
an hour I will have fled

Buxted’s slid lawn – no
crisp sheets – unfrozen
paths will slurp [again]
& mud will suck on my
comeback [in sunlight]

alone – having noted a
burning off of rime ice
[having nothing left to
notice after that] – it’ll
sour any mephitic kiss

of defrosting ice [pond
life returns with light’s
warming of tensions] –
There’ll be such grand
weddings & events up
there [’til then wait on]