without the shadow
beauty cavils and retreats
chiaroscuro

kneeling on hassocks
talk love, act like a cossacks
put boys in hammocks

so many dark eyes
seen in Rome, evoking nothing
without a future

Pope took a hammer
And knocked off their penises
Yet still stuck smiling

Ancient stone of Rome
Attacked by a steady rain
Defiant always

Ice dapples the roof
Flowers crouch close to the earth
the season to hide?

The morning is soft
grey rain murmurs on windows
thoughts turn to London

a bright cold morning
redolent with the future
quiet, no answers

The wet newspaper
Slowly covered by wet snow
Hides until the spring

A finger dropping
note flies out the window
a bird turns to hear

Pulling the covers back
I fight for a goodnight kiss
My boy laughs at me

The dry leaves are thick
Done falling, ready to rake
We go and play catch