Peace

Contentment and whipped cream-                                                                                                                      are indulgence for the
pancake Sundays alone,

and so you savour the
soft moments like red wine
You swirl around your mind

the drops of sunshine through
the panes, and the dry burnt
crackle of bronzing leaves

mocked gently by the breeze.
You single out the notes
of new books and black ink,

the condensation on
cold drinks of colours too
brightly sweet to be true,

and the concerto of
scents wafting through the open
town patisserie door.

You notice the tannins
of old pennies twinkling
on mossy fountain floors,

and feel the bitter edge
of grey downtown gravel
and pale late-evening smoke

then memorise the silent
sweetness of taking the
loved, long, twisting trail home

You drink life’s moments to
the lees and let their warmth
ricochet off the sharp

bright facets of your heart,
a cache stashed away from
the crushing wheels of endless fate.