New Build

One foot, then the other
jerking through the sludge.
Scanning the darkening water
while fireworks explode
in impotent memory of anger.

Low flight skims the surface.
Sky lighter than the oil below.
All the shades and sculpture of the clouds
has become flattened into silhouette.

The world is disappearing before me
as a tiny lion hunts in dying bramble
scenting still smaller things,
hiding in the straw of forgotten summer.

The lights if the horizon coming into focus,
some bleeding down the foreground,
like an oil paint reflection of the actual.
Stillness caressed by distant traffic
and the phasing, persistent wail of a siren.