published in Oxford Magazine, 2007;
collection, Landscape with a Hundred Bridges,
Blinking Eye, ISBN 978-0-9549036-9-5
Father in Snow
In this print by Hokusai
on the roof like a quiet cat.
in the night
will slide off the eaves,
footfall in the flurry of dreams.
the orange sun rises,
will take a sensible broom of twigs
scrape the path clear
the way to the misty river.
is the same the world over —
you’d think, but
is also other —
even than itself, every snowflake
here in England
is English snow.
in your boots with the ribbed tops,
blue corduroy jacket.
house has shoved you out — a puff of surprise
you light your cigarette.
though snow is a language, starred
the small gates, the crystals, the
though you have come far,
will always be strange to me,
you are, and here it is,
against the roots of the hedge,
for the skirl of your shovel.