Sunday, 21 July 2019


The cloud on the hydrangea stem is viscous
Shows in the water as blame

She holds the tone too long
And I get hid

Broke petals
with an almost steady pitch

Pick at a scab and make
The topography

So singing leaves you lightheaded
With bright folds

The breath of evaporating need
From the back of the throat

What counts or who
(And the rest)