
The city is still,
from ashes branches protrude
bare from winter’s bite.

The city is still,
from ashes branches protrude
bare from winter’s bite.

We’re barely afloat
a kayak on a still lake
chaos in our minds

As tears, rain drops fall,
ominous clouds gather round—
spring goes a hiding.

Teetering on edge:
moving to a new country;
jumping off a cliff.

Hanging out at sea—
grounded but head in the clouds,
boats live the zen life.