a life lived in Bits
thins and pales

let the sun dance
across their eyes
and pixilate their hair

a step to the sand is
what young minds
were made for

a douse of the sea
a scent of our earth

to stitch in
undeletable smiles

 

the keeners have come
to shoulder away the dying light
and sit heads bowed
in a moribund grey

as this night falls
with a dark that
gently folds us in
and shields what
we cannot see
until the dawn
our reimagined morning

 

she’s been walking hills
pulling through sand
and a shroud of mist
that her buttery breath
curls in front of her face

but hopeful edges of light
bring dawn to the sense
of her new beautiful
a focus to a clearer view
of where she may go

our broad horizons
have narrowed to
witch finger peaks
too thin to call home
too cold to give warmth
not meant for this world

‘there’s someone in my head but it’s not me’    Pink Floyd 1973

 

she sits and stares
palid porcelain thin
waiting to be told
when to go

looking down to the woods
where dark birds wheel
in sensuous veils
eclipsing her view

they bring no comfort
from the tumble of
perilous voices she hears
that come to her un-invited

as the strangers at the window
who stole her daughters face
pinned it to the wall
with her certainty and will

and crouched by her knee
waking a smile from the past
with a stroke of her cheek
as fleeting as her breath

snark tracks lead
through the brush
claws out
strafing the mud
be careful how you
pick your path
which poisoned fronds
to push aside
which turns to make

their golden song
will weave false
threads in your ears
and draw you like
a moon pulled tide
to a hidden grove
their craven moot
where they gnaw on
the bones of their young