At Aber Falls

he felt nothing
water sheeted
past grottoes
snakes of tributary
lazed along

I notice her because she doesn’t have a dog
in an afternoon of dog-walkers

the goddess of the library
extends in cloth-bound curves
along a lettered shelf

There were hundreds of them, all in period costume,
each generation explained who they were,
queued like at a wedding reception to greet us.

Venus passed over the south node of the Moon today

She offered up her linen bag to me, said
pick a shell my lady and I’ll tell your fortune

Squirrels have beheaded all my parrot tulips
and the supermarket is out of chilli, also  tabasco sauce.

the sun is a
white coin
lifted
from the sea

Yes, you gave us your elegant hands
and capricious smile, but as I make my way
to the chiropodist this morning,
it’s your feet I’m thinking of . . .