Saturday, 19 September 2009


Sunlight on a broken column
Of skin
Of dry grass and ancient bark
The afternoon draws quietly in;

Down by the silver birch
Mushrooms have melded into earth,
The paper is a script of lines
Old riddles I cannot find;

My fingers seek to solve
The mysteries of braille songs.


Jeanne-ming said...

Delicate and beautiful. Always

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