A tide‑glass hour ends before the sand, but the sea keeps counting.

A ring compass points north yet circles my finger like a vow.

Even broken, a lantern shard keeps a fragment of the night inside.

North waits for no tide; it circles in gold.

A vow can light the way, even in shards.

The night ends before the sand, and the sea continues counting.



.

cold in my chest where charcuterie burned
pages of lifelines now crackle and moan
prayers for a future never returned
and silence within, the loudest I’ve known

"Week in a Wink"


Mon rocked up in trackies,
Tim Tams for tea,
By Tues the kookas
were laughin’ at me.

Wens the streets glistened,
still damp underfoot,
but hope wore her sandals
and kicked off the soot.

Fri slid past quiet,
Sat hit with a thud,
Sun blazed in gold
and lit up the mud.




.