SOON If I called you skeletal it would conjure up death, and you are not dead. Better - I see your frame, now. Your long, outstretched limbs are handy perches; the plump oval pigeons sit grey, side by side, always a space between. For the magpies you are a climbing frame; they hop, level to level, to be highest, squabbling for top notch. The silent greys look on patiently unperturbed by the raucous cackling They mean nought by it - It is just their way. And through the resting and the playing you wait your time looking to the sky, reaching to the depths. Soon. MELTING Let it go. Each little bit. 'Should be' is not for now, not for you. Let the striving cease. Let the current carry you; it knows where. And it will - trust it. And enjoy being borne along: - see the blue, blue sky - you have time now, to watch - and the warm sun, let it make your face glow, - and the honking geese, you have time to watch them, now, and laugh. And that red, red robin you saw it and heard it sing - for you! The melting has begun.