Patching up | heaven | Fixing the holes | in place | Is potential | a myth? | How does it die off, all that stuff | we never get to see? | Wrong claws and | the beak too subtle, all around | the flowers are changing | bells to trumpets | sulphur to cocoa | A Victorian gentleman | illustrates it wonderfully | We didn’t love | and that’s enough
Seeds thrown down | recklessly | Air | hazy with spores | Gauntlets of pleasure and necessity | To fight a duel with | the chance of death | the loss of love | Did we take a wrong | turning? | Ghost flowers | stir in negatives | Through a slit in blossom | angles of sky | on the mica | gleam of petals | parades of small animals | passing by | Torrential | life in the summer dusk | What could it be, all we have | missed? | We never get to see our own thoughts | do we?••
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from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, February 2013)
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