I wrote this poem from a hotel room in The Lakes, looking out at the mountain, covered in trees, as the light faded down…

Sticks
Standing
Still
Together

Look up hill

In front of my window
Waiting
Banded white
Dark vee
Reaching up
Fading light

Grey
Formally blue
Previously green
Feathers rise up through the gloom
Slopes to me

There is small kindness hiding in all

Canopy heaving dark green dreams
A slow breath
Damp

I have to get up
Turn the lights off
No longer black
Never gone

Carpet climbs fingers
Up to the moon
Clasping each other
In desperate love

Can’t fiddle, with the mountain

Drape your blanket of sleep
Across my blue paper fields

Burnt sticks
Charcoal dreams of dawn
When fire again
Releases me