heatwave
  the crow’s shadow
blacker than the bird

— Andrew Shimield

never before
never again
this shooting star

— Ram Chandran

milky quartz
in the boulder’s veins
mountains and rivers

— Jenny Ward Angyal

last orders

I have, of late, been thinking of all the places that we didn’t see together; of things I wish you’d lived to see. There are, of course, mountains, sprinkled with little lakes, so clear you’d have laughed as minnows swam freely through your body’s reflection. There are coastal paths; forest walks; curlews in flight; a dolphin chaperoning our boat; a pure green field of playful lambs. And there are also tall-ceilinged rooms in stately homes, so stuffed with bone china and twist-stemmed glass that you’d have stopped in your tracks and shaken your head as you took it all in. I can see that look on your face quite clearly.

half moon
my hand-pulled pint just the way
you’d have liked it

— Alan Peat