tucked in to benches
in the park
possessions in plastic
old toys look tragic
and
I pass by masked
thinking
he doesn’t know what I think
hasn’t asked
isn’t that always the way
we look to our own
take the payload
build an ark
navigate with mirrors
sail in a trance
dance, alone
but if my weight
cuts a wake
like he says
I see
virtually
no mark
then again
haven’t asked
Recording on Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/havent-asked
Photo by Kirstin Heckmann on Unsplash
A wreck of gold and crimson
over the horizon
an island out to sea
not far
frothed in waves and it’s
windy out there
back home the damp seeps
into everything
carpet, eiderdown, towel and bone
while the daughters rev and roar
next door
smoke blooms in the night
once more
peachlight clouds against grey-to-black sky
nostrils flare
all is so quiet but that smell of fire
over the horizon
there
it’s
a wreck of gold and crimson
beyond the shore
Photo: https://unsplash.com/@wtexxfaa1
Somewhat inspired by https://poets.org/poem/diving-wreck
clairevetica 