Like the sun’s drop into the reflected
Ocean horizon
I submerge into the filth
Of corporate greed
I maintain separation, but from your beach
Appearances can be decieving.

From height, the bottom is abyss
But I have seen into it
And I have become it
And my hands no longer appear before me.

As if there was ever any purpose, anyway.

Well, well, well, I would hear my grandson say
That was the first thing I would hear, each and every day
With his big blue eyes looking into mine
I just smiled and listened as if I were hearing
It for the very first time.
                                                                ­                                                    
By Connie Hopkins

Even when all
the ruby shards
and splinters
had vaporised,

I’d pretend
to gather
invisible
broken pieces

outlined in chalk.