in air, happily haphazard, the moth;
in water, a narrowing circle to death –
the wings lose powder and power.
lifting the smudging thing is a small mercy
in the pool of the world where
soft bodies are easily recycled.
left on the stones the shrunk wings
hold the eyes longer than would its detritus
longer to see whether it is too late
longer to see whether it is a life saved
longer to see a hope become a certainty,
then a shared moment.
I approach the bed in darkness my head feeling happy for tomorrow there’s that coffee arrangement to look forward to and then…I slow need something there, search the cupboard, bare
Sleep not willing to bed with me I rose and sought the soft folds of water. Eyes to the stars I floated in the cool white sent by streetlights over
On the stem of incipient protea shark-shaped petals wax tight their cradle of colour, ready to bare the heart of bloom for creatures of earth and air to gather and