markbousfield

SOU'WESTERS DRAWN TIGHT

With Sou'wester drawn tight
as a hood I stalked
with long strides from heel to toe
across the wilds,

beneath a couth cudgel
smokewhispers trail elder and birch
down the emptying corridors
of London city,

barrowed to a furnace and strummed fingers over a spoon
the hum of gently warring times
twitches the night's edgetune,

in a hunter's guise
the lapel of his favourite flannel shirt roared
a vibrant red
as the splays of moonlight lit the transom arms of a beloved
waiting quite some time ago,

muddy soulfood enfolded
by temper and pressure, so
knackered by neglect, an effortless grace booned
in the smile of the rider and the coming rains regret.