A New Currency in Fruit




Behind the eyes,

In the brain,

Is the tearing of tears,

He knows he was young once.



He stands behind me,

I whisper into his winged ear,

He puts his hands through my arms,

Playing melancholy.



Cutting my head with the sun,

Where all the trees are hiding,

Making them appear,

They bare fruit.



Gone,

He reminds me with the absence of memories,

The price of happiness and wonder,

Is forgetting that he was there.



Under the clear sky,

Under the cherry tree,

I sit picking bright blue diamonds,

Amongst the laden branches.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The Lines





The ideal height,

The ideal shoe size,

The ideal footprint.



Is the world really ending?



Outside my flat there is a snow softened tree,

Its marble branches reaching up into the empty night.



It is so beautiful.