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Likestarlings is a place for talking in poems and pictures. We pair poets with poets and photographers with photographers. Each pair produces a sequence of new works responding in turn to one another. Our palaver blog goes beyond poetry and photography to discuss collaboration in theory and in practice in a wide range of places. Please take a look, and feel free to add comments, opinions and suggestions here. Read poems here, look at photographs here.
 

Last of August


Late, a wasp alights on a dropped crabapple.

A low highway roar and sparrow twits.

The air, brisk though still.

The drone, low though there.

Nothing will happen in the yard all afternoon.

Then a shift in the sky and the colours lighten and intensify.

As though a knob were turned.

Infinite ceiling, says the screen.

What clouds there were now hang south, over the lake.

The water darker under them.

A cabbage moth, a fly.

The air a loose net of things.

And again lighter.

A frond wags.

Not hello.

The red plastic shutters on the white plastic house heat up.

The flowering almond innocuous all these months past blooming.

A done deal this isn’t.

In the math of it, there is no answer.

No need for a window onto it.

The air a pocket of lint.

As useless as the world.

A squirrel moves across.

From here to there.

The air a bag of air.

A wasp moves on.

A cricket does what crickets do and the air quickens.