Wednesday, December 19, 2012





despite everything and everyone 
telling it not to do so

I am going to miss 

the pinwheel stuck 
in the railing 
of a rusty balcony,
spinning furiously.

the kid who shouts at the sky 
mimicking strange mating calls 
only heard in balmy jungles,
where the wildest survive.

the small pots of plants
tendrils stretching out
wrinkled brown, 
drinking in sunlight.

I am going to miss us

and these days 
and our hearts 

naked and fearless
lighter than feathers

0 poetic mutterings: