Here comes autumn

After the Gallery

Heading north again, yellow and orange leaves stream past
like dots freed from a Seurat painting.

We pass a plump brown river, the promise of another flood
held under its skin.

A horse in a green coat
rolls in a field; a wash of mist

softens a ridge. Outside Chesterfield
I try to look away from a girl

who studies the Highway Code.
You’re almost old, I reflect

to the tunnel-blacked window.
She glances up and through me,

luminous and assured
as a Leonardo.

A version of this poem first published in Clear Poetry.


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