Jeff Guess

Sunlight the colour of cold straw.         Now rain begins         and has its own strange         calligraphy         on moving windows...

Silver air is crystallized with ice         a numb biting suspension of cold.         The pine at the road-corner         of the paddock...

Upon this paddock         it has rained all morning here         and late into the day and dark         where things without interference...

Out from white bricks         of the church,         at the junction of orange clay         and a neglected         border garden        ...

Now is the time of the crab-apple         small coals of fire         beneath the frost-cracked panes         of winter.         Whoever...

I don’t want to live         outside         of my garden         as I don’t want to live         outside         of paradise        ...

Moss is a way         of looking at a wall         soft veined between the rocks         it chokes the builder’s art         and grouts...

The olive tree must live as long as age         and melting time can manage         notching up seasons like enemies         guarding...

Soft-brown calligraphy of leafless branches*         a brood of hens scratch in a careless line         out from their swung-open        ...

Here now this long-dead tree         great grey galleon         against         the golden morning sky         post pigeons         in...