The rain falls straight down,
withered leaves turn into themselves
and the clothes-rack drips.
I hear a gutter gurgle, no birds.
The doors across the road are shut,
windows closed.
We talk about tea,
the pot we will buy when we get our own place;
how bergamot, or cinnamon,
will infuse the air.
We talk excitedly, then rest into quiet,
into the sound of drips of rain,
the slowing gurgle.
I notice a jackdaw
fly onto a tree, a leaf fall
onto dark earth.
Listen to a dog bark,
the lake splash.
Winter is not yet here,
but it is clearing a space for itself.
Ion Corcos was born in Sydney, Australia in 1969. He has been published in Cordite, Meanjin, Wild Court, The Sunlight Press, and other journals. Ion is a nature lover and a supporter of animal rights. He is the author of A Spoon of Honey (Flutter Press, 2018).
Latest posts by Ion Corcos (see all)
- Plum Jam - 21st August 2022
- Bakery - 11th March 2022
- Walnut Muffins - 19th November 2021