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a spindle of light
ghosts among the palm trees sit and stare |
silent surroundings
the breath of dog on crisp air |
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willow wood and sand
creeping sap where children play |
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fill the gap soundwaves blossoms on stems |
bitter cake, forks of bilge
where trying is never enough |
|
fumbling for flesh
no gaps space is overrated |
the jumble sale
all laid out a red cushion |
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a spinning leaf
black trunk of tree spider web |
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sun for breakfast
winter wind a heron on the lake |
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hills where sky should be
a forest of damp logs and fungi |