Time - still me
Nothing will touch me again
High , I swing in mid air,
suspended, vulnerable on my silk strand
the wind to break ? or to carry me
Free- to a new place ?
No life signs
Bare, arid, dry attrition
Tiny droplets percolate,
Swell dessicated grains with hope to grow.
THE BLACK BAG
Brake pads grate, door slams shut
and then I see.... smell....
the black bag,
smouldering heap of black char, half-burnt remnants,
from where ? we ask each other airing displeasure.
I poke the contents for some answer-
flame sculpted ugly mess.
Enquiries reveal the early morning presence of a man
unknown and doorway slept,
an invisible shadow- moved on now, like the lazy rising smoke,
who in his freezing ,waking hour, found comfort in the refuse.
I turned his image in my mind and doused the grey-black ash to melting pools,
my anger softened.