The Possibility of Weather
You are going to live abroad
a refugee from memory
the price of a good villa
and good wine
pebbles in your pocket
You imagine slowing time
and finally reading
all the Christmas books piled high
But endless heat or shade
a purple vista beyond the bleached
an emptiness of friends
until coffee mates are acquired
no history,no roots
nor the comforting fire
calling you in from
the sweet bluster of a Welsh winter
You will pickle in olive oil
turn turtle brown
and miss
the greys and greens
the possibility of weather
