Nilthing

A small house. A tempestuous ocean.

They chat in the front parlour.

A night sky resembles a fist and does not.

A tempestuous ocean unlike a mouth like an eye also. His wrists in appearance are sea monsters in thought.

Her elbows were salty as moonlight was then. The small house bobbed on tempestuous ocean.

The eye listened and apple shadows tumbled down.

Her wrists made shadow indentations on in cloud. She buttoned her coat and cried and felt bare.

Music plays though the world is dead entire.

My fear of machined surfaces.

His wrists then appear in the front parlour.

The food is bitter and bare.

A tempestuous ocean rests unmoving beneath starry stars and stares at their moving.

She crawled under trees listening to trees glistening. Music played the world was alive fragment. Her tresses under trees.

In the small house they disappeared down vast corridors.

Night’s gown.

Unbuttoned her coat till all the bare trees were clothed.

They look out at us from a window under the roof. We look in at them from the window under a roof. Historical words in wordless world. Coldest days of next year. The world is never in this place wherein.

She wanders a road vivid with scents of glass. Heraldic

ratio. She resembles so many other creatures you recognise

her despite the years which then pass. Then the world is

beginning to be there after.

Piscine glint of frosty twig.