sleepy shade of glass
awakes, and blinks in spoonfuls
of honey-bright light.
a bouncing tangle
of apple-kissed locks sit with
legs crossed in a pot.
traveller of clouds–
now citizen of this small
snuggly home, welcome.
the sun probes the house
with thick, relentless tongues that
leave behind gold dust.
I fear the taste of stale water:
the waste of fetid fishtank gunk,
I fear the hot air grows hotter,
the heat of lost hopes, pipe dreams sunk.
I fear the future’s daughter
and her bright, accusing eyes;
I fear that time grows shorter
between her birth and our demise.
I fear that we have bought her,
like the soldier persuades a monk –
with blood, and fists, and torture;
consider the water drunk.
I am just a
a hungry black hole with only tumbleweed to feed upon, a
frizzy wild tangle of
if only I could bottle you like drops of mountain spring
and hang you round my throat upon some blessed religious string;
then the droughts would not score cracks into my sucking chest,
but be nourished, filled to full and tamed with happy rest.
But oh, you are as flighty as the scent of morning air
caressing once – and then, is lost, dissolved in everywhere.