It snowed on the day
she died

It was April
I knew it wouldn’t lie

I made toast
and tea

the noise of my phone
still ringing

in my mind

I watched the lovely
big fat flakes

falling

softly

They looked like feathers
curled with gravity

drawn back down
to earth

There's a small temple near here

The dry grass around it bends
   rattles and snaps
   in the constant
   wind

Dust blows up in clouds that whip
   across the wooden stilts
   and fall

A temple
   to the ancestors

Hand-painted clay pots
   within a quiet recess hold
   their ashes

at rest

listening to you sleep
I hear your sighs
your little mouth explosions
& cries

surface calm
rippled by an eddy
of whys

you whisper in your sleep as if
the secrets that we keep
are wide awake and turning
churning

somewhere in the deep
beneath your eyes

I wonder in the darkness if
we’re drowning in our lives

take away the orchid
from the sill

watch the shadows
fill

close the window on your day

as the lights
fade

pull the curtains
go to bed

put the pillow on your head

they’re coming in
they’re coming in

again

Twisted water
gives labels
                           of light

Black          Flat

Swaying walls take flight:

Stone upon Stone upon Stone
Trees

never seen to dance dance
till quarter to me
Yesterday still

it seems

Daffodil binoculars cup
the crispy
yellow rice.
                 Twice,
candles pencil
my jars
into receipts.

Mats burn crystal windows
that the wind will eat.

Greener flowers
          that jump
     and book
the sky
will swim towards being.
A crescendo

stuck within the tube
seeding the bird feed.