She dropped the Blood orange moon
and stained the evening sky,
a gluttonous autumn feast, raspberrie and plums
smeared from her sticky thumbs.
Mouth wiped clean on dusty clouds
and grey beard contrails that divide
the heavens – new realms of
mackrel scale, tabby fur, owl feather, speckled hen.
Waiting for the fire to go out.
I lost my breath, and then
a bat swoops low above
rose tinted thistledown.
The farmhouse’ sightless eyes
reflect the gaudy show –
delights for turks or shepherds or
weary walkers on their way to home and sleep –
a cut across the tops – a quiet treat.
Calves butt and play in twilight fields.
Heptonstall silhouette against the lurid sky.
Turning my back, not left to the black chapel
where we said our scarlet vows,
but down in the dark past
cricket pitch-black and silent
in the shadow of the mill,
Windchimes twinkle and blend with echoes
-clogs on cobbles, chattering and clattering,
Someone has left a coin in the washing machine.
Before me the moon in full display again,
Washed clean, damned spots got out.
Glory against an ink blue sky –
liquorice mountains in the early night.