The Burning of Leaves

Time for the burning of leaves
The heady spiral smoke
Above the whitewashed cott.
The turf smoke scent
A memory of smiles.

Now
The dog rose
In the dune slack
Turns to hip.
The willow whip 
That bends its back
Before the lash of hail.

I see it all
And wish my part 
To play with it again.
To taste the salt 
Of sea upon my lips
And shed those tears
Caused only by the bite of wind,


JL Sept 13 13:55