Red Admirals
the wind walked along the hedgerow this morning
picking up leaves in her teeth
and grinding them down into mush
to spit them out into red globules
that might have resembled haws
or even hips to lie in wait with the
detritus of fallen discarded dreams
of the future
the silence in the wind paused
exposing a gap where a deft sharp
edge had cleft the root stock of the
thorn allowing dreams to filter out
of it’s core
letting them rise up and kiss the silence
to feel the chill of the wind
now bereft of any skill
until the fallen apples with their
ripening perfume assailed it and
brought in the flutterbys to make
the wind beautiful
a touch from them allowed
the wind to speak again and
gave it back it’s very own taste
for a life that could be alcoholic
unless policed by the ivy clad
wall buzzing with perpetual life
John Edwards
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