Some times, it’s hard to breath the idea
that the sky is grey. It used to be as blue...
This was not physical.
Which part of your psyche...
Upon silken grass
blades reaching high as the sun...
The Stone Wall
They moved the rocks...
Whiteness in my heart
I avalanche from winter...
A wreath of skulls
you want to hang on the wall...
I should not have been
there, where I am now...
Absence is the initial feeling, as I slowly turn...
left; where you once sat. The wind echoes...
Catching a glimpse
of moon...
Where has the butterfly winged?
Where has the flower gone...
Half acting you take
the broom for the journey...
the past is just behind us,
a shadow in our wake...