Passing Joyce Tower –

A quartile on the way home ~

Across Dublin’s range.

Backpack left strap slips –

My shoulders’ width uneven ~

Broken collarbone.

Rain pounds my windows –

A comforting sound at night ~

Except for the leak.

A cat’s front paws, tucked –

Universal given traits ~

Behold excellence.

A pleasant surprise –

Pick up where you leave off friends ~

Easy conversation.

Slugs and snail traces –

Old gravestone mapped in sunshine ~

Zigzag of trenches.

A good crystal glass –

Cut design measures a thumb ~

Arm’s length from Chaos.

Last front house sun days –

Manipulating the ants ~

Clear generations.

Picking blackberries –

Against the fading grey light ~

Can’t tell black from red.

Picking blackberries –

Eventually lose count ~

Ten thousand black globes.

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‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness…’

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