tight to the chest

I see bits and bobs

laid out neatly-etched 

a-long a winding road 

in fact they-lay

in the peripheral 

where I cannot grasp

tight to the chest

utterance ephemeral 

will they solidify soon? 

everything contingent 

if I don’t move maybe the world will stop

growing over decades, two-ish

we then begin

decaying over a lifetime, unknown 

of maintenances of denial of regret 

I sat a moment with a book just now

the stillness, calm, quiet 

of a Sunday morning with a sleeping dog

cacophony diminishes

in a space I cannot reach

where a storm shade sits

derelict, no rail-guides

chirping birds have nested 

one child on the windowsill has died 

but we both like to sleep

some say some pets 

and their people resemble  

appearance-wise, but no!

my Birdie gurl

is too beautiful, too sweet 

the final frontier

what incredible space, we say

then fill it up with bits n bobs

that bang our knees 

Memoria

 Wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Sitting on a (wood) step, bare feet on hot concrete, sun on my face, wind a bit chilly, drinking a mildly cool coke from a green glass bottle. It was maybe ‘77 or ‘78.  I was 7 or 8 at my grandparents house. The world was simple. I still do this. My drink may be different, the scenery different. But the sun…always there for me.