LATE SUMMER.
Buck wood, late summer.
The sun coming through
the branches of the trees,
giving that flickering effect.
And you see her coming
between trees along the
bridle path. She doesn’t
see you; her blue eyes are
elsewhere. You see the
sunlight touch her hair.
You’d heard Braithwaite
fancied her, rumoured to
have wanted her for the
sake of a random fuck.
You know he never did
despite his secret wishes
and desires. She sees you
through the blackberry
bushes and her hand waves.
Fires light up in her eyes.
Excitement is there in her
heart and she brings with
her a great love, an armful
of hugs and kisses, but then
she’s gone, just a mirage,
a passing ghost, a trick of light,
having died you know from
cancer some years before.
The sunlight dances innocently
(as you remember her) on
Buck wood’s green floor.
