
Like moaning witches
with stretching skin, dragging robes,
sea beds, years later.

Like moaning witches
with stretching skin, dragging robes,
sea beds, years later.

Cuts the atmosphere,
blazing through clouds in its way—
bushfire in the sky.

Slicing through the light,
casting shadows on my path,
many shades of green.

Victory trickles,
on pavements, on alleyways—
one love emerges.

Layperson’s refuge;
and learned’s weapon of choice,
poetry is life.