poetry flowing
scattering its joy
and sorrows.

as dark eyes close
the harbour
waits for the moon
to unlock
its hidden silence.

wrapped beneath
september stars
a ghost that watches
where the water
drifts.

He sits by the stop  
But never boards the bus
Smoking sweet smelling
Cigarettes
Fingers yellowed.
Drinking straight from
The can
Under the midday sun.
Beads of sweat on the brow.
People get on
And people get off.
Never him.
He tells me that
Sometimes
The greatest joy in life
Is watching others make the journey.

badge
     of birth

face
     in a hole

begging
     kisses

basket of lint
     pool of perspiration

dried flower
     in soft hair

bath time
     bubbles gather

touch of your mother
     for life