petrichor
a snail practices
our absence


plagued by silence
a ruru mimics the sound
of the dark night

pond ripple . . .
the one I am
no more


 

still life . . .
all my colours
from dusk

still us –
sounds aflutter
enter the light

sultry night
my birthplace rattles
its chains

swollen night
the pre-cum of dawn
bends a leaf

"Dystopia?"
"My eyes have been squinting."
"All three?"
"One after another."

gallows pole
a wind chime hangs
on each word


 

the darkness
of my mood
colours the toast

the reflections
of an alien species
out of my mind


the wind
winds up
a cat

ululations of immortality


 

 

up, down
a leaf adrift
or not

windfallen
on manicured lawns
Sappho's ashes

windy day -
stretching the truth
across clouds


 

with age
the deepening pallor
of the moon

wormhole trip . . .
my shadow and I
splice genes