Through my window bars,
descending, cold as judgement:
early morning fog.
Morning, sunshine!
The dot
A blemish-free sky,
made up with strong foundation—
a birth mark, the moon.
The burning
Pop, pop, crackle, pop,
sound of tiny hearts breaking:
trees felled for firewood.
Firewood
Green, black, red, pale white;
a colour every season,
trees are humanly.
Biodiversity
Riverside sunshine—
million micro organisms,
heroes without capes.
