A list for John

Gum leaves sickling to the ground, dry as piles of paper.

The clock at Greenwich strikes.

The mobile phone is chirruping. A picture file is opening.

Silver aircraft – the stillness inside a journey.

Between the covers, black swans on the wing.

A long Guinness. Whites on the green.

Numbers glowing, fat with future.

A coin flipped – the winking sun.

Spangled youth, loud in the gloaming.

Plum and orange notes sketch the Concierto de Aranjuez, moist smudges in the dark.

Pages of a book in a language you can’t read, fluttering on the counter.

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