‌Green doors

These green doors are pasted here

Not hinged and nailed but painted by a photographer’s assistant with Silver socks and a dull jacket of sepia trim and herringbone laced

With a knot not a bow whose summer Sundays are spent on a hill beyond the church Staring at a breezeless birch set fine white like finger bone.

This is a grey-skin village washed by coloured ink, the photographer’s hand Traces the traces of our villager and dog whose cart turns green

Magics the shadow people at Munn’s to black Lowry lead.

March 9, 2015