I sat on a low stone wall
Watching the blue blood of the azaleas
Spatter on Haworths cobbles.
A seamless transparency of rain
Lowering over the turning trees
My thoughts drifting to Claudels
Five Great Odes, to the stone marker
To the swathes of heather.
I stood on the moor top
Where the tracks cross
The fellside green
The fellside ochre,
Shifting reflections
Of C?zannes last winter.
