Verse

Enormity

When something little crawls on your skin,

it somehow threatens your everything within

because you realise that you’re nothing and everything, all at once

—like the dirt we walk upon

—like the great big Earth we live and die on

—like grass blades

—like the vast plains

—like the one breathing open enormity that we won’t make.
 

When something little crawls on your skin,

pressing its alien intention against your being;

your whole rounded entirety begins to shake with questions

—like how the Earth must feel

—like how a whole other world could exist right in our view

—like the reality of reality.

It’s terrifying.

And, that’s why we scream.

Picture by Madhavan Palanisamy from the series Appa and other animals

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Verse

To be a cloud-watcher

Sometimes I think I want to be like a sage,

a cloud-watcher,

a dog sitting by the bay—

a thing content to not partake;

Like a lazy fisherman untroubled by the day

a lizard bathing in the world’s ways

simple enough,

astute enough, 

to never watch,

but, only see;

to just be 

but, never really live.

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Verse

Today sparrows

Who can call you home?

It’s never your life after that.

Sparrows come and go

leaving someone new

beating your heart out.  

Photo by Mark Fowler

Photo by Mark Fowler

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