Bird-like

wetland2

almost a glimmer-crack in the ocean
seagull-grey above a half-promise of golden blue

almost the earth offers pooled offerings
dull but with potential for silver

almost bird voices conjure the light
casting a beady eye when food and feathers allow

but in the end
we make do
with what we get
like the birds.

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No change

No change in wet-brown
rot of the year past
green creeping beneath groundwater

water of the ground
mud pitted with hoof and paw prints
mud-scraping.

Rain falls bland and cold
from no-sky no-cloud
grey air-tide

dank as an ocean of weeds
sopping seeping
spongiform where feet sink

and as night falls
sinks sops I realise
today not even the dogs barked.