Stark

Word flow on from eager anger
stirred by notions out of flow
nothing moves within the sphere
of gentle caring.
Slender trees move to and fro,
smile upon the distraught traveller,
the woods appear like so many dreams
keen to envelop, soak up lightness.

Garlandine


Serpentine seams of silver ghosts
appear to lonely finger-shaped clouds
eager to belong, here, there,
somewhere..
Night cloaks down on this old town
and I walk ahead into a dream
of loveless flaws,
exceptions, trickling down
into lakes and liquid vaults
that locked out half my world.