Fragments

…the tractors are out
the snowdrops are out
the poet is out…

…out on his way
to a workshop
out Grimsby way…

…for an hour or so
the wind whistled
around the doors
and the windows…

…we just went our separate ways
no point asking why or when
or for what reasons…

…under life-enhancing skies
pinks and blues and silvers and whites
after days and days and days of murky greys…

…following the frost
the delivery of arrogant sadness
which, for all, bears such a cost…

…I have not forgotten about you
but without the itch and the scratch
of your echo it is difficult to
relocate my presence…

…the fields are low and flat
ensconced by drains and ditches
for the drying winds to wallow…

…sparkling sunlight reflections
gifted by the water in the fields
where last seasons stubble residues
are surrounded by settled mud…

Christian Sanderson