The Drifter

When autumn wind sighs
over mitchell grass downs
I look for you
stencilled black
against the coppery glow.

We speak of simple things
living a lifetime in small moments,
daily doings, a dripping tap, the leaky pipe.
Shifting the kettle to the hob,
tracking a whorl of stars across the dome.
I wish we could hitch a ride to heaven.
But you’re drawn to city lights
places around the bend
beyond the hill.

Waking in dawn’s grey
I hear leaves crunching
you’re leaving me
to wait
for autumn wind
shushing over grassy downs.