poems

SET PIECE

The pinks of dawn on hiking trail caught us staring –

dead ahead was earth’s chipped and greening self-portrait,

the frame brightening, simplifying as we walked,

emptying the air of its haunts and auguries.

There was only our small talk to mark the way – 

that and a redbird rehearsing her notes 

inside the wide drum of morning.

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OK, maybe I exaggerate the drama besetting this 

everyday tick-tock set piece set enormously in clay.

Maybe Silent Master took a moment’s rest, 

gave us the run of the joint, left bread and wine 

to play startled hosts in case we stumbled onto them.

After that, I headed home, reheated the coffee, 

wondered if I got any of this right. 

© copyright 2024 Ray Waddle