Fruit Fatted
Chandeliers spilt; a morning sparkle; an air of morning after, of drunkenly flung. Spider-webs' irregular geometry strings the hedges, celebratory. It is a feast of fruit fatted flies for them, a larder of sugar buzz wasps; wrapped parcels hang from diamond lines. Abundant autumn, busy, glutted. Through silk-sticky marvels walk home, squinting in the lit up mist. A feast of toast for us. The jam was over-boiled, it spoons out like sweets, rounded and night-coloured.