Four Poems

AFTERNOON DAWN
             for Rod Shand

They are felling the dead elms
to the west: the sidelong sun
surprises the room after
a hundred years of shadow.
The forgotten web and dust
on untouched books are sunstruck.
Clearly, something has begun.

Things that had been unspecial
are transmogrified, reborn
to duende and charisma.
Sun settles on faded spines;
crystals through a decanter;
chases spiders in this, its
perversely afternoon dawn;
...