shoes bathe my soles
with sunlight borrowed
(i’d left them in the atrium)

...you're a slippery fish;
a swirling rainbow
beyond hook and line.

Dodge well and
weave with perfection.

Rolling sky like,
the grey and blue pushchair
became a cloud.

Odes, condensed milk;
Reduced, sweetened brevity.

You are like bed sheets flapping in the wind;
Snap happy giggles alive with the thrum of Summer.

Dusk…
…in the
space between
jigsaw pieces –
lost.

From the beach
We see a
Wind farm wave.

James calls them
Windmillows,
And I smile.

Now he calls
These windmills,
And I frown.

Soon they will
Be turbines -
I shall grieve.

milk jade spiders
stowaways   from our past home
a pout of breeding pouch
appears
our new home   is similarly blessed

Be the recluse,
Be the hermit,
And make your assessments of others
Based on short and fleeting interaction,
Drenched in the sweat of "purpose" & "agenda,"
And be met with statements
Which really convey nothing and rarely
Encapsulate honest thought in brevity
But are said only to end the conversation.
Close knit,
The threads choke,
Living your turtleneck life.
No collar to be turned up,
The cotton already hugs your throat;
Nothing to end abrupt,
That which never saw its start.
Those who talk
Simply to hear themselves,
Do they have anything to say?
Those with the blinders on,
They never see the entrance ramp
Neither the turn-offs
Till it's too late.