MUST

must relax more.  MUST . . .

must look more at the leaves on the hill

and how the soft brown ground is falling away from the road

and

must breath

in the air

in the sweet forest lane.

lucky to have this quiet English commute.

couples in leisure wear

their

dogs running for punctured footballs and spinning sticks.

the sun in the sky

and

everyones

breath

still

hanging

in

clouds.

the sideburned diddyman shouting at his dog in the road.

the man walking the miles into town

big bag on his shoulder

leans

him

to the left.

must smell winters grey baritone.

must see easters burnt blue horizon

thats coming

in

on

the

weekends.

must pick my pieces up and hold them aloft gently

and write the art of a stolen night

in

my

time.  till like Li Po;

only

the

hill remains.

MUST . . .