This is an Indian summer
cool mornings brightening to
burning afternoons where the grass
crackles underfoot & the sky’s high and clear
sporting a huge full moon.
I drink the last of the summer wine
while you remember what you forgot to do
how you left me high & dry with the day trippers
burnt like pork & the children tetchy
from sugar.
Tonight I’m thinking of you
I watch the horizon bending to the curve of this planet
all of it sky washed blue,
twisting in countless universe’s cradle
& our love seems such a small to do
hardly more than swallow’s flutter
or a cloud wisp’s trail
at the end of summer.