Plum Recording

Plum

Who am I to judge, how you show love to the riverman?
I heard you in your sleep last night, feeding him plum pudding

The fruit-bowl’s a shambles, of felt, and fluff, and afterthought;
penicillium blooms on octogenarian heads

If this trickle grows a river, then a lake will follow after;
be sure he knows the single plum who’d overload his boat

When the plum tree plateaus, and thoughts are of the riverman,
we discover ourselves; a glistening stone-fruit pit in an oar-worn hand

From the collection Boulder Awe available to purchase at www.tendedhearth.co.uk