i am
a rare and
beautiful bird.

elaborate.
distinctive.
wise.

i watch you
out of
the corner of
my eye

and i see
your tricks

i see
your games

you forget
that i can fly
(an aerial view)

and i know
exactly
what you
are up to.

(sometimes)


my favorite
wine glass
broke today,
shattered.

faded purple glass,
heavy in my hand
a crackled texture.

i was
careless.

i put it too
close
to the
edge.

i remember
buying it.
choosing it.
only buying
one,
because i
am just one.

i'm mad at
myself
for becoming
attached
to a
piece of
glass.

because all
my favorite
things
break,
crack,
fall away.

and now there is
glass in
my foot
to remind me

of all
the things
i place
too close
to the edge.

the sky is the colour of ceres porcelain
or an oil painting of a windy isle,
the hot sun softens,
the days easier, the clouds
are white like patches on
blue jeans, the cooler air
conjuring the blues of the
skies, mystical and haunting,
the stream’s summer greys
singing of rusty pools and
white linen, as babbling water
falls from the mountains
and rushes to breathe.
summer becomes tender,
opens her heart to the
beauty of the sky, lingers
with flashy sunlight, and
touches of brilliance to
those water-colour skies
and sends us adieus
and sweet memories
of children’s laughter
and happy, warm days.