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spitting dusk  (  ksud gnittips  )

…

the thicket bristles in the wood

as ghosts are gloaming in the leas

a muffle in the scheme of things

as breezes hum & ruffle trees


the grasses whisper in chinese

& chatter through the afternoon

until the fly that hovers spies

a sunken sun, a rising moon


& sitting in a sodden ditch

within the still - a poet harks

the tooting sounds, a screeching copse

& hoots abound - the owls are larks


so scribble i with squinting eyes

i'm spitting dusk in dimming light

i'm scrawling on as supper calls

i wave the day & kiss the night

...