losog Bron gone

a cup of tea waits
like a patient
before the fire

a clutter box
perched on a cold hill
full of noises

familiar groans
shake
the shady tree

its unique objects
before my eyes
are reorganised

but nowhere
do i see
the shadow of the tree

one molecule thin
it is smeared
across a lifetime

stanzas from the post Jennings bible

i long to taste and understand
the open plains like the back
of a lover's hand. the map groove
i run my eye along like some
song of forgiven tears run dry
          two hundred million years.

exploring all the green nooks and
crannies i untie your serpentine belt
and imagine the lava tumbling down
my breath catching on crysolite showers
as we pan for sapphires and diamond
          between your laughter.

i read, divining though ancient fog
landlocked reefs the car revolving
on over the ploughed landforms
by giant hands you grip and shake
fatter minds than mine
          still, post-man, go on.

i step out of the landrover in
khaki shorts bearded and white limbed
resiliently March across the lithology
oceans of wine mixed with time
loud is the laugh as she slams the door
          never never forever shut.