your name
on the memorial...
half-lit pines

after the storm
sunlight picks out the lettering
on Georgian gravestones

The Gourmet

just can't resist
a zebra spider
this winter morning
(it's the way it hangs

from the station rafters
at a handily
gulpable height);
pushes the door

of the platform cafe
and orders a regular
white Americano
to wash down

a couple of legs
that are awkwardly
lodged like raspberry pips
between her back teeth.

at dusk
in the shade of sunflowers
a lone figure
hunched against the wind
tends his pumpkins

All-Hallows' summer
the avocets' plumage
yellowed by sunset

out of and into
the sunlit mudflats
a rusty chain

autumn rain
the nutty bits of peanut butter
lodge in a crumpet's holes