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BREAKFAST WITH THE RED ADMIRAL
The Red Admiral settles,
flat as a piece of satin stitch,
on a sheet of blue plastic near the well.
Its colour draws me from the kitchen sink.
I open the gate
to the dishevelled garden.
The bay has shot up to rooftop level
and nettles poke out of the mound
of an unlit bonfire.
From the bellbine,
the butterfly makes a pulsing line
to my overgrowing apple tree.
Following, I jump high as I can -
reach fingertips around a fruit,
breakfast on the same red as those wings.
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CACOPHONY
The world is light;
the cockerel prises
off night's seal
Cock - he - ker - roooh! he cries.
The reel of film is
held here in its catch;
just pull the shutter
as you'd strike a match.
The light is all;
the light that makes him fling
open his whole being,
stretch wing-tip to stretched wing-
tip: you see the size of
red comb on him rise.
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