a spindle of light
ghosts among the palm trees
​sit and stare

silent surroundings
the breath of dog
on crisp air

willow wood and sand
creeping sap where
children play

​


​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

a spinning leaf
black trunk of tree
spider web

sun for breakfast
winter wind
a heron on the lake

hills where sky should be
a forest of damp logs
and fungi