Sunday 14 December 2014

Saturday



I climb the hill with the dog.
The sky is spotless blue.
Three lines arrive in my head:

I don’t like myself at the moment
but I don’t know how to be different.
I don’t know what different to be.

I stop in a gateway to write them down
and some skylarks flutter by,
glinting like fishes.

Later, in a secluded field,
I see tree skeletons against the sky,
and I’m happy again.

1 comment:

  1. I know this isn't haiku but it puts me in mind of it - nice and succinct.

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