Tom Murray
Fever From A Window
Half moon sky
covering
frost stretching
with the shadows
of the trees
of the rough brown gorse.
Frost chased, burned pale
by the encroaching sun
that dazzles the white
of the four, white. figures
who move tight, together
out of sight
of eyes that blink
to sink to a close.
To wake to a full moon darkness.
To a stillness.
To maybe sleep
again
to maybe dream
again
the hills white and bright
to maybe watch the four, white, figures
drift on through the night.
Page(s) 141
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