The Vines in the autumn

A short observation about the atmosphere in The Vines, Rochester early or late (and you can’t really tell which) in an autumn day.  Everything is backwards as the grounds seems to drip onto the sky, the avenue of trees lights up the lamps and the thick air breathes in people.

Spiced gold branches flare in trowelled oil paints,

meekest grey insinuating watercolour lamplight forms

which haemorrhage their sodden light into a compact air.

The Broad Walk narrows and it cannot say

if gluey dawn or hefty dusk is oozing from this mood and moment

as a breath curls up and ruts like wet sand in the sky.

Outer space is only ten feet up today, and mist folds in

as light gives out, and with my fists and with my smile

I knead the air’s slack dough and watch it rise and dimple.