Watering our plants,
we look over the fencing—
the day got away.
Gone
Out of mind
Down our urban streets,
beyond the concrete facades,
sun sets out of sight.
So be it
I pour blood and sweat
into preparing the soil;
galahs eat my fruit.
Ripe
Starting to ripen,
first drop on a plain canvas—
strawberries make art.
Fading
At the end of day,
lingering shards of sunlight;
shades on a palette.
The Chaos Within 