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Winter’s eve in May
There is something about a soft May afternoon
before it is time for sunset
still warm enough though it will not last long
green all around
refusing to drop
refusing to bend.
And I think of golden poplars
along other roads far away
planted in a place where they too do not belong
adapting
singing in the autumn
which suits them.
Gone the frangipanis
sole sign that it’s almost winter
red flame trumpets boast
light here in May the same
silent, caressing
with a sun about to disrobe before us all.
From 'Counting the Chiperoni' (Ginninderra Press, 2020)
