…Dusty
beads of sweat silently slalom down every curve of the face
before accumulating in a base
formed by the shoulders neck
Face
now towards a child
an outstretched hand accompanied by a smile
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Fish peacefully swimming in a still pond.
The bread goes mouldy, everything has an expiration date,
And the crumbs drown in the ominous pool.
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I don’t remember meeting you, but your face is familiar, sort of like when you wake up and lose a dream you had just been holding onto.
Since I don’t remember how our paths cross, I will make one up.
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Do away with strolls, in populated parks-
The peeling-poster promenades on
Station platforms, play the part
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The crowd around me hardly changes,
I don’t know everyone.
But, the distinct hair colours stand out
counting every strand. It’s easy to take note
of the colours and fabric strangers wear
fuzzy jackets next to leather boots.
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A mossy pebble in the rain
A set of dusty, creaking stairs,
An empty room, filled with silence
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…passed, lifted by the wind, away, alone, no longer in its thousands, week, insignificant, on its own.
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She is a part of
everything and an
inspiration to us all
grieving is evidence
of the strength of love.
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Your voice
Rises as smoke from a chimney, wandering afar
Dances like flames warming a stagnant room
Burnishing the walls with honeyed amber.
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longing to see you again, when you chew your pen when you’re nervous; when you glance into car windows just to see your reflection; when you get frustrated when your hair doesn’t go right…
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Fields of emerald turn to swarms of golden piles
piles are swaddled in black warm and dry
the crow travels high, cross country for miles
swaddled piles of hay mark his way as he lets out a cry
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