pi & anne

I slowly empty
my mug of mint tea,
disillusioned,
following the waves of the cedar
—a violent rain

can’t promise

the sound that water makes
on varying surfaces
of distinct objects—
I too am here
a variable factor

that

the cold finale
of a crime series:
even the softest sofa becomes
uncomfortable, unidentified,
a simple thing

I have

tomorrow, tomorrow
I will go for a walk,
at last
getting closer to my own
intended, envisaged pace

learnt

death and hardship,
birth and joy,
I ask you,
are these clouds on the horizon
aimed at saturating us?

anything

from father and mother
to daughter and son,
the claw marks
of anger
and love

but I try