l lost it underneath the barge-boards when
I hosed the end of autumn out – a line
about the way the gutters run with sun
and claret left by ash leaves. By the time
l’d cleaned the facias it had disappeared –
I’m always losing lines like that. I know
that I should write them down before they fade,
but roofs are awkward writing places and
I may recall it when I flush the year’s
last colours down next May.
I doubt it, though.