In America I learned/ about a starter house,..

Snow clouds pump overhead, turgid mix of low nimbus/ in serious grays ash slate pewter hues...

On a no school snow day / playing ball in the house / I broke a fancy vase ...

too many caged hearts too many boundaries/ overridden too many of us want to hoard little swifts/...

You can now drive for miles on dust roads / that were once part of an abundant seabed...

We slash and hack and burn, hedges wasted, trees slaughtered, wildlife afflicted. And yet another April.

The dispossessed came to live beside us, naturally, in cities and towns, on shores, on hills, above bowling alleys and in cheap apartment blocks ...

This beech sapling, sprung of its own accord from the parent tree, is old enough to join its mother in the leaf-change...

It's a bitter wail, An enduring whimper ...

We are always predicting our ending days, not now, but just around the corner