There will be movements in a garden,
Birds at low unforeseen angles
Your heart will quicken,
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
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 three striped pants.
sometimes I reach, no I reach back to salute you.
Will futures see me the same?