Out of the bloom

It’s another hot morning

Sweat sits neatly

On the inside of my wrists

Wets my cuffs

And cools me

I’ve taken some time out

You see

From that town

To this country retreat

Where my body is supposed to breathe

I think it’s working?

Because my mind is in one place

Tapping to the beat

Of breakfast jazz

And it all comes together

For one short weekend

Out of the bloom


My green drenched soil sodden toes

too warm too cold

and burnt dalmatian

find a home between your blind hands

and although your eyes see the damage

they feel, and feel nothing

and are truly blind

and the pressure

of your fingertip is homely

and the temperature is just right