There will be movements in a garden,

Birds at low unforeseen angles

Your heart will quicken,

Frogs.

Try to look at the pale light

The naming which warms

The glow of the lines making emerald

the green which for once is not submerged in cold

Yes leaves are grey and slip easily into unconscious hiding places for small mammals which I believe to have nefarious motives although I know this to be beyond their intellectual abilities, heartfelt desires and physical capacity.

Let’s not pathologise, Doctor.

In Victorian Times,

Adorn me with a velvet bow

Wheel me out after dinner

Else

Let me drift shrunken boned down stone corridors in white.

Chill rising like steam,

Laudanam and vapours, words forming auras around me but not of me; for

I am thinking of small mammals and their nefarious motives.

I draw to this like any image,

My mind a cut-out doll

A velvet bow

In white

In three striped pants.

sometimes I reach, no I reach back to salute you.

Will futures see me the same?