Mountains starkly etched
on leaden skies
promise more snow.

Six mourners sit

I

A heron strides
cowled through the meadow,
His frost-blighted cloister leading down to the

A new sun is dragged up
By strands of shredded cloud
And poured into a

Rain fell all morning,
now watery sun smiles
shyly to light the floating
wisps from

Typical local landscape -
bottom half yellow,
top blue.

He got out
of the tank.
Hot twisted

They’re not an Italian green
(basil leaves gleaming in sunshine):
this is a pasture seen through