A settlement of sorts

Sun splashes onto concrete

Dreams head off on an azure lilac wild-track walk

She’s meeting with a secret

And trying not to bawk.

At this closed season of the heart:

Life drifts into memory, life lived apart,

A tempest of emotions, a coldness presaging fate,

She’s knocking at the window, and it’s all too fucking late,

The flashiness of fashion, flirts with God above,

Whilst we are surely satisfied with the extraordinary ordinariness of love.