Pal –

by Juliet Antill

it’s not you that’s caught my eye
but the hills at your back,
lit as they are by the slant October sun.
Have you noticed how the world smells
of ripe fruit?
And that leaves are dropping
like take-out cartons?
If I’ve to choose I’ll take the hills’
hard embrace over yours.
Aye, and the snow to come.