In the vigilant years, when the sunset rises to nothing

you see entirely what the screen sees,

completely at one with that 
and don’t have to suffer.

To persist through autumn.

Keep pruning the herbs, like a Benedictine monk:
resentment of weeds – not what they are but over-abundant

in a ‘Godless’ fashion.
Work, read, pray, but mostly read

when you don’t need to skim

desiccated leaves off the pool cover.
Distiller of charms, you become

an expert on cisterns.

It’s what the website doesn’t mention that counts.
I too have fixed shoes, baked roti, and

advise my brother on the sins of idleness.

He likes a game of cards, a smoko at lunchbreak.
Remind yourself that

succulents love the rain,

that French recycling bins are a logical system
– bottles here, rustic nostalgia there.

the State promises no hassle.
OK, old policies have been revoked, though

they didn’t waste a letter to warn you.
Here the gap between love and hate

is infinitesimal.
I still miss the certainty I was,

A door fixed so it works.
The telegram arrives – LIVE LIFE PERFECTLY

But then it’s buried under compost.

Unfixed, the door still opens and shuts.