may we just be quiet now.

they have razed the garden,

demolished the trees, against their

better nature.

they are paid.

may we live here

quietly,

now?

sbm.

the edge of reason, in the edge of sleep. almost amnesia.

lay gentle, slow remembrance of reality,

low noises from the window,

slowly starting hum

of traffic.

the air moves

on my face.

sbm.

is it welsh, did you spin

it here? softly balancing,

wool, in rows

in colours,

imagining boys jumpers,

slipovers and the like.

then buttons in red

with white spots, and packets

of various, needing to be

in my button box,

maybe.

a gentle day,

a gentle way

to earn a living.

sbm.

they moved the mirror,

when blankly looking

found nothing there,

ex cept

vertigo and framed

birds nesting.

the moon jars, have melted stone.

sbm.