day of stasis and tiredness;
walk out in wind: cool,
clammy, the deer sitting
at ease, the pool empty
of water

up through the woods to the
reservoir, black-faced,
eerie, few birds sing,
peaty-water who knows
how deep,

back down the hill
and along the track home,
fire on, orange
flames of comfort

and hand-made oak
shuttles for my weaving,
oiled with love

Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem