Pitch My Tent

I pitch my tent
count flowers in your garden
you make me welcome
I think

At sunset and sunrise
I look at shadows
watch reflections, insects, birds
ignore the whole picture

My rucksack is light
but my legs are sore
On the climb, I remember
the footslips and stumbles

~ ~ ~

Nine Crows on the Roof
(aka pecking moss)

Left slope: imprint eternity
Right slope: salvage disposability
Chimney stack: noise and warp


~ ~ ~

Nothing sexual
but I decided I needed a lodger
and now there's 12
they call themselves The Church
and I had to buy bunk beds
Apparently, I talk about you a lot
They want you to be their high priestess

~ ~ ~