Eggs cr ack in-two
feathered faces.
Eyes open
for the very first time.
beaks split ting,
taste sharp air.
Nights still get cold,
wind still whistles
through open windows.
Insects popping in fire,
in flame
to pierce ears
with the worst of inevitable thoughts.
On cliff edge
death is always tangible.
A resting crocodile,
a loaded spring
flowing smoothly
through liquid glass.
Role playing nose-twitching gazelle
while tiger creeps,
launches-
misses you.
Weather balloons float by,
decide it’s safer to land.
Vast empty sky
speaks knowledgably
of kindness.
Its gentle way,
permanent presence, grandfatherly.
One more step,
take one more step
and you never have to hear the phone ring.
No one sees the water
fall
momentarily
varnish blue balcony rail.
Each year onwards
morbid celebration.
Candle
life
being blown
out.
People are glad
it wasn’t their family.
Tease you
for buying canned corn
(they wanted cob)
a couple hours later.
Wander away,
wonder
if you had not answered
to hear mother’s tears
wash down the line
would they still have sprung
and would oxygen
have continued to fill his lungs?
