Flowers come to mind for some reason
poppies, cactus in December
spaces silted with darkness
I didn’t know I liked the Sun
A multi- coloured chart without boundary
Not quite dawn. The plain white stare.
I go out for walking
somewhere along with my loneliness
narrow streams running through
River water mixed with my eyeballs
saying my poems?
Traces that stir
the waves of an old affair.
All day is stoic,
At dusk i wake with eyes wet.
I carry that and go off to bed again.