large rucksack-type bag, easy on the shoulders, darkly distinctive in colour, yet able to contain immeasurable weight, photographical equipment and thought?
thick tome within which to hide eyes, thoughts, dreams, and wonders, and realising that slowly leafing through reveals delicate snowdrops of information - of frozen thought, of memory - that could have happened to anyone […]
…and so to hear the writing of the music of dreams. not just a few seconds snatched at the mercy of terror but filmscripts, plays, realistical images, imagined away.
The crowded, pallid buildings reflecting a dazing sun. The rule of confusions muffled under stifling heat, a code only shared with those of knowledge. […]
blue will ever be blue. following you, leaf to frond to trunk to root. Dunked in precious soil and a soul sheen, those minutes of halflight will never appear the same.
trace a circle with a finger around and about, turning to a figure of eight and swirling whorl, wisping whispered mists woven […]
on a quiet and still day your words entice, dripping through skindrift spun in that reflected sheen of millponds. Bathed in daisy-fresh mirrored pools, a scene stitched with the quilting of angel hair to watch over while the world sleeps.
[don’t look now. almost there. almost as if to fall ungraciously in and never […]
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