It is the lack of sunlight
in this patchwork village that is to blame.
fifty miles north of nowhere
heat escapes during the night, takes a whole day
to amble back. Boundaries less
imperfect seasons with their terminal punctuation,
sudden-death rounds send us reeling for shelter.
Take yourself out for some Peace & Quiet.
By the time you get back we’ll be armed.
And then you say, we’ll have one more look.
But one more look means getting on with the hunt
so tonight the nets are set
and the children put to bed early.
When the birds are silent, crestfallen
we take our hooks to the sky.