But then there are those other ones, the ones who get upset when you are happy. They know who they are.
on a white askew cross three syllables and some dust to summarise life
a few lines at the bottom of the page
left to themselves (mostly)
in white silence.
A few crooked pages
but the sentence of the judges
(go lie down on the grass)
celebrate that time
of day when the shadow sits
against the white wall
at the foot of the mountain blocking the sun, words freeze in the violence of the world.