your perspective doesn’t see.

so what do i do?

change it.

show me. something new. i allow me to see.

light comes in subtle as a cat you can sense but never see.
it purs at me. licks its lips and wants to eat.

wait. will you write poetry or do you want me to speak? both are the same. just choose – so you don’t muddy the drink.

i choose poetry, for a bit. then we’ll see..

the clearing was green,
the sun also that day.
they were mad by the sea.
four of them romped in the sand airy-sweet.
it was bliss.
but only after it was happening.


image: light through my drink at bearnstow 2017