winged assassin Mr Hawk
beautiful and deadly

another Dove bites the dust
feathers plucked, no more flying

another poet for 'peace'
voice fading

all the children starving to death
their storytime ended.

tip toes to an imaginary line
drawn in the sand,
speaks in shadows,

tenderness, raw and sharp.

raised by wolves
she chews to the bone.

kiss the wind
my love is gone.

Acrobatic
Elegance
Mixed
With mystery
Wise to the rise
Giants of the sea
Breaking free
Through depths
Of blues and greens
Like brush stokes
Through a dream
Lines and curves
Become serene
In the depths
They sing
Where
Beauty leaps
From the belly
Of the beast
Bubble trapping
Curiosity

Five of Cups.
I keep clinging
to the spilled wine,
wishing it would return
to the glass—
but it never will.

And now I wonder:
which one of them
is the spilled wine?
Which one
can’t I let go?

I searched everywhere.

Couldn't find anywhere.

Nowhere to be found.

I am lost.