Grasslands
It’s almost blusher pink –
that colour of grass tips
at this time of year – my
dog leaps as she hunts –
here untouchable birds
rise from her – dusk will
mark losses of colours –
greens slump with dew
as air kisses dampen all
fervour – moths play out
confusing games [white
scatterings – bending &
testing routes] – We will
leave trails by my boots
through these pastures
[not meeting any other]