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 |