My blonde and feathered thing
My blonde and feathered thing
we watched the seasons change
together
the crackle of the brittle autumn leaves
cackles
as the frost crept up the path
into our hearts
hers is small and moist
a little muscle
a red pea
as soft
beating
she imitates
my silly little sigh
she glances
with her opals
her weathered eyes
she imitates
the climbing sun
in June
blonde
her wings run the horizon
blonde on blue
I don’t touch her
she’ll wither
beneath her wings
my blonde feathered thing
we sing
about the winter
its fingerprints
icy little palms
clawing along our path
we listen
as the pears thud in the grass
she swears
that
under the navy night
her blonde feathers
they stir
in the opals
of the filth
prowling beside the pears
those dirty feathered things.
All photographs © Daniel James Greenwood 2010
