Seriously secreting abstract thoughts to embalm the chilly July porch, drifting immature rhymes to perfect the order of the wounds.
it did not suspect anything
it was advancing fearing nothing
it did not need courage
all its life was on his face
They will come back, eventually,
in the order expected
by my disorderly thoughts
or all scattered
on scraps of paper
to avoid me spelling
verbs like tarnish
or names like vertigo
I will weave connexions, trembling threads in the fresh air of the river, traits of light, airin attempts, some nothings or kinds of magnets, or fingers seeking a solar story.
walking by the Matai River, August 2018, canon, ©Sylvie G Lire la suite to achieve a smile