Here’s what I wrote today:
For a few days after we got back, still I was warm from the sun,
a different creature to the one that haunts English skies-
here, we camouflage ourselves in grey,
make-believe if we wear black the rain will ignore us.
There, you wear white like the houses wear it
flushing crimson come sunset, a white
that seems to have a persistent dialogue
with the sun, it chatters like a bird of early morning
glaring, these houses made me flinch like so many eyes
without pupils, the white blank gaze they turned on me.
I am familiar with brick and damp walls,
I console myself on a bad day that the grizzling weather
partakes in my mood, always sure of a wind in my face
Without this constant stress, the battle to stay warm,
I feel loose thoughts cannon ball round in my head
I load the guns, I fire them at nothing, and lately,
I’ve taken to walking where the clouds gather
waiting, hopeful, for the dashing drops.