A boulder on my neck.
I am climbing your...
I didn't know
some ants had wings...
The blue veins,
defending brazenly...
Deserting a shrine, in the swirling
waters, I move, unbuilding...
Death
Mourning...
The shovel
moves the wet earth...
I've reverted my yard
to a bush block...
Shadows of branches
furred with green buds stark against...
The dry air pulls my breath eastward
where desert calls in earnest yearning...
Partly broken
They crumble...
Some things are not said,
uncoupling the cut glass...
No questions were taken
from unforgiving sword...