We Close our Eyes

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Above our head, hail forms, plummeting to pin prick curiosity
just as the jilted spring we foresaw disappears from view;
we crawl back to hide between the shadows of winter and yesterday.

New bells toll and sound out the dawning sun but they refuse
it a foothold until pale and wan like the crisp, bitter flakes
of morbid snow and frostbitten mouths that feed in it.

As snow comes to ponder deeply, black crevasses are eked out;
we peek into them and risk falling in with no hope of rescue
by warmth or thaw or sunlight, all dwarfed by a blizzard’s gloom.

Whilst caught sleeping, the dimness of winter is swallowed up
by tell tale signs of blue, airy skies wafting overhead –
the lustre of azure water swims in its eagerness to set us free…

Houseboats

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Inspired by a tremendous haiku on Lize Bard

Why would the water be dead?
We have hope, enough to pour
into lost loams,
and to remember the lilies singing
one night past midnight
a long time ago.
Afloat they were on the darkest
green backgrounds of palms upturned,
creased with worry
atop a watery grave, I suppose.
We hugged as its mouth opened
and it breathed one night,
we nearly died of fright, but it
sucked them all in;
maybe we ignored their cries
due to sanity
tugging at our sleeves –
maybe cowardice too,
but with survival utmost in our minds.