Poetry Found on All Soul’s Eve
Pink-fingered, dawn drowses an hour longer before rising, but we both long to pull the covers back over our cold shoulders. My ragged thoughts drop to the pavement, four hoodie crows pecking their disappointment at another Monday. A splashing gold tree waves its last goodbyes in the graveyard amidst candle stubs and frost-bitten roses. At the harbour, necking iron cranes pause to raise their sullen heads as I pass, uncertain how I’ve gotten this far. Umbrellas of light gather the mist close, watching the city crawl forward, reluctant, coffee stained. It lifts its gray skirt above the shadowed buildings, allowing me to descend into the grind.
A Breath of Garden for Dinner
Grind thyme and lemon with salt to the kitchen’s hum, kettle and pot, children’s voices asking the eternal what’s for dinner. My cool palm carries the scent deeper, kneading the day’s weight, its push and pull, into the dough. Staccato knife on wood, carrots and fingers still engrained with soil I tended. A step back to the pinched stem, heel to shovel, cutting the earth, to bring forth music.
burnt toast and full bookshelves
withheld sleep tastes of pennies as night rusts to dawn dust maps my wanderings through the house a milk moon and stars poured over pages crumbs of memory crunch underfoot tick of titles down the spine like counting breaths wool filling my eyes give in
Flight of the dragonfly 