Place me by the hedgerow
near the nearly ripened fruit,
where the skyline falls away
and cascades through the trees,
where the birds perch amongst the trees
like hands struggling to hold on.
Place me in the yellow evening
filled with repentant desire,
where the rain seeps into the crowds,
labouring to extract cagouls and macs
from the recesses of bags,
and the sea is nothing
but a quiet raging
far into the distance.
Place me by the coastline
where the ghosts of ships rust into sight
and the tideway gutters along the mud,
where the morning frames the ocean
that autumn has made sick,
gently relapsing beneath my feet.