Sleeping magnets suck cows
down to brook in mud and gluck
and ivory shoes, sheepish pastures
drop wool in handsful, crowish
peckers hop dollops of dung,
bunnies bound spring caramel
jelly, hawthorns bud to leaflet
pamphlet, ash lies flat, as one
tree, like all trees
Follow the pulse, slithery digits
on drum, the conga, bongo,
mamba – next booth: the sound
of heavy typing
~ ~ ~
Neil said
you have to tell them what to think
because if you don't
someone else will
just before
impressing deeply my friend
who I was sitting quietly with
under a tree
in the sun
and then didn't see again
for 40 years
until we met in the National Gallery
which is dark and airless
so I hardly ever go
but I remembered
the sun