to talk of dead folk

i was quietly drawing
at the old table and as

one can, I felt someone

behind me on the work
shelf

i turned
as it skittered away
with its prize to chew

outside

the last of my dead
mummifieds is gone

eaten as before

i am drawing some odd

stuff these days. meanwhile

my mobile still makes capitals
so I changes that

the breeze comes through the
window

while down by the hedge I get
bitten

You brought me back.
No gift more giving
Than innocent, silent
Thunder.

there is wonder of all kinds
never boring
beating my wings
moon over life