on looking at todays work
i see the spots are appearing

research is kind, we have tried many colours.


we ate the cake, yet not wishing to appear
greedy left a crumb.
for a bird.

like flags that are decorative
or bunting that represents a
happy time

dislike borders
representations of separation

i don’t use a teapot
but evidently many do,
and cosy up together.

they don’t squish teabags, have leaves,
and stewing on the gas ring,
like mother, reducing it to
poison on my tongue.

i like the leaves to look at,
smell, like the small packet
we used to have, paper lined
in those days.

listen to the server, who
clasping the teapot,
tells us revelations
of those who live, who divorce
and warm the ***.

new colours.

the bird landed gently

hardly there

stood steady in wonder
watched the dark bleed
across the sky

watch birds scatter