Leaf
It wasn’t the time to leave,
but stem chewed and gale combined and the leaf fell.
Hairstreak, full green not yet ready,
not curled by summer’s end, crisped by West Coast salt, mottled by frost or holed by Sawfly.
Shadow dancing the lake.
Tumbling, a fairground shuggy, a mother’s touch rest onto the blackness.
The magnetic water pull.
The long float.
Damselfly platform.
Captured on lava foreshore whipped by the fell breath channelled down ice ravaged ghyll.
Purpose complete.
Its forgetful host fed, post prandial.
Unburdened.
Awaiting the awakening.
No Kiss me Quicks, no giggling girls,
no candy floss, no strawberry swirls,
no shuggy boats or bright blue skies
no donkey rides or coconut shies,
no arcade fun, no fishing off the pier,
no slot machines, no ginger beer.
November blues, an empty prom,
to sunny Spain they’ve all moved on.
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