The funny looking figures – bodies flat
Pressed into stone wall and inky washy sky
Invisible to the hand that can knock over
A cup or curious dog and the tall horse that stares
Off into the tall trees transition of silk wool
And sniffing of clues of supper out the page
Whereby what’s that in the gravy, hmm, in the certain
Slant of leaking weeping god in gold in straw
In the wide glassless window too far from
All that the us and the her and the them they fear
And what’s that son, what’s that what’s the use
Of the rainbow flexing in her hand mirror
Gentle as sand is to move always subject to change –
Meet me halfway today.
Modern Poets Magazine 