Alastair Howard Robertson
for Trish
Yellow leaves for coining on
a pale aluminum tree
and clouds like snow is coming
on winds like glass set free
that fill the sails of tiny ships
on dark Atlantic sea
where pale-green islands lie
that distance is the key
Violet forest sunrise to
the eye of innocence
and the city as a garden on
the other side of sense
where nothing can betray what is
not wrought by violence
or built of bitter words
in past or future tense
In diamond fragile stillness, each
fall day goes noiseless down
into the vacuum silences
the winter seeps around
in six-point perfect radiant
million-snowflake sound
dissolving space; and order
lies rigid on the town
Wiretight birdsong ringing
and bright magenta sun
melting in the sky at noon
that made my eyes go numb
For the rains of sunshine run like sand
and leave the memory dumb
with wishing that the summer
once for all would come