Speaking into the speaking stone
Listening to the listening tree
Breaking the breaking bone

Half empty green bottles smashed to sharp emeralds
Cans crushed into half stars
Passing cars like comets

In the dark place we find each other breathing
Console me with your tears
Bleed the last drop dry

I saw you
Through the screen
On that second
Why did I think
It was meant to be

Now read from bottom to top.

So many poems
and stories
have gone unwritten
due to fear of not being good enough

The leaves
were lime green -
it was a pretty colour

They swayed
and danced and talked
in the wind

Life was
beautiful for them
and because of that

it was beautiful for me