fear
of this and that
of nothing in particular
that no one else  will
understand

as he left the garden
he said they may be working nearer home now.

dry he wore the white dress
though
his hair curled damply

we drew him
we painted him

he is taller now & remains
much the same

lady on the bus told me her sister kept lots of soap and what did I think.

I says she sounds like me.

courage to walk away
from objects that irritate
our eyes, to eat another way,
with snakes and camphor oil.

you know what i mean

shall we rescue the drowning where we can ;
record the names?

you thought we were broken
yet we watch you solidly, bravely like joan
with just one comma throughout

snakes figure a bit here since
i saw that one in the
famous old painting with a egg
in its mouth

she said she liked the stories

except I did not tell them
i never tell you much
nor all of it

there are bits left to fill in
yourselves

there have been a couple
of incidents but now she
is in disguise
with different
hair

little world here of characters and stories none of them famous nor commendable.

it was mentioned that some people don’t know what royalty is and he agreed and said
what is it then?

she was drawn again yesterday with her sibling

though it did not look quite right so

shall i tear the sister off?

seems that you are trouble, is that correct?
yes.

it seems you need to let the birds sing

became slightly nervous looking up
at it
retreated to the studio

is a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,only just a theory,

yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

so here on the night watch,
all is quiet , no birds sing.

touched by the small thing,
softly, we drew together,
with words, and gestures
in air, in mind.

told them about joan and they said they had to go, get home
later I heard they liked her despite the startled look
she was drawn again yesterday

so joan will be
revered

if the pencil slips
she will remain
ignored

day of small things,
slowly steadily worked
as we rest the dust motes,
shine as gold.

the air moves
on my skin.

i turn
look past the curtain

see the face again

framed.

yesterday I watched a documentary
about monkeys

light came, we saw the green ness of it all.                          we live in the country.

yet when
she said my friend looked pretty
&
that I smelled nice
I sagged a little.

later that day
i found a message
request
from a soldier in the usa
holding a puppy & a rose
calling me a beauty

tell us things, take us without consent. there are no records

cover the place with whiteness.
pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.

.he had leaned toward me and commented
that i was getting old
and while that is correct i assumed from his
remark that he must be younger

time goes on and i am told that we are much
the same

carefully we drew her out
all tidy with reason, wearing
us down

putting words in my mouth
like sweet sultanas in chocolate

they come in twos

so while out on a longer walk,
met him and he explained to me,
about walking there and back again

how small
how white the child
skin rinsed with tears

salt in the wind

fail softly with a sloping line

tapering off into dots repeated

the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

lift the cotton, look again.

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.

the kitchen is quite dark without the light on as is slightly below ground, the graveyard behind
used to leave a lamp on yet with energy prices hike, now follow her lead and wait until entry

they screamed that there was an accident waiting to happen on the stairs

handbag, not fit for any purpose than
delight and design.

while the world is turning there is a small hope to always return home

duck egg blue
the ironmongers in town
at three seventy nine

we can walk there and back or there
and bus back you see

is the little things that excite, even
in the height of summer, low look
for seeds, small flowers studded
in hedgerows,

bird in hand is drawn
rules to guide us

with stars above that have no points
at all
yet each one has a story

you like birds?

as do i

neither of us employed
&  i am vaguely idle

now i beg forgiveness
we are little things
that dance in the mornings
james

in the light from the phone

i too fly solo
&
enjoy the flight

when the day clears
i look up at the others

google when back at home, read about
people, and know we may after all
be twins.

lift the cotton, look again.

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.

the word came involuntarily,
others were stuck, yet i knew
them to be beautiful, and
so they are.

carefully we drew her out
all tidy with reason, wearing
us down

our work
our soul
is in
our chest

some of us manage
to be vulnerable as naked
in private

some need holding up
in sight from my window

so,
must we write about it before we forget,
before  people come and disagree?

they have small waists and a  national costume

my goodness
such a thing to see while out
and about

such a high up place to be