the last time they
saw him
happy
was when he told them about
that weird dream
he had
in which wine
poured from the tap in
his kitchen

and that
was it

he had nothing else
in life to
be happy about

They didn’t need to
ask his
profession

Somehow they
all knew
he was a
poet

This sickness has
derailed me.
I've scaled back on
the things that
matter most.
Life has become
askew.
I'm tangled up in
blue and red lines,
back against the
fence.
I'm frozen and febrile.
Insecticide burns on
my spirit.
Pesticide in my lungs.
I'm sick of all
these chemicals.
They are in my dreams,
and in my bones.
Maybe, she is the infection...
Never mind, it's just Covid 19.

size of raspberries
often called thimbleberries
**** salmonberries

glad i saw the old houses,
wintering, wood smoked,
perfumed. glad i smelled
the oak burning, turning

There's immortal.
And then there's
Eternal.

I've read of immortals -
I've read of their exploits, their battles.
They bleed.
They agonise.
They fall.
And one day
they fail to rise.

Eternal is different.

Eternal bleeds,
agonises,
falls
and dies
only to rise - Eternal.

Leaving the forest in an enlightened mood,

A hemlock root did intrude.

Sending me crashing upon my knee.

And the crow flew away mocking me.