From above, a drop, brief as a comma,
spaced from the next by a breath of time
not cold, not wet, a touch on the wrist
and a sound – tick – or not quite that
till another stitches it.
In the mix of vapours above floats no cloud
to let go its drop of water and fall
to life here stretching back to where
*serein: rain falling from a cloudless sky
I met a migrant from a distant land who sang: in a garden beyond lies the wreck of a birdbath, pieces strewn across the sand, its slimed bowl cracked, of
Though he did not know it Though he did not know it the beggar who crutched his way up the middle of the road in the middle of the night
At the window the blank of a dayedges up from an unseen horizon.A sudden tang of air shoulders space awayopens a door to a place long forgotten where scent seeded