Creche

(the 4th of September)

Wet eyes begging at the door
Walled in
Castle of Innocence
Buldozered to a handful of
Play-blocks scattered on the floor

Good-byes plucked
Like scales off a dead trout
Limpid horse pulled away
From derailed cart
Love temporarily
Timed out

Left ghostly pending
With the tremor of a rootless tree
Neither living nor dead
Just surviving the calamity
Of ritual away-sending
Misery

Every second
Inward growing claw
A foolish monument
To the economy of trading
Contact flesh to flesh
For the cold roominess of
Growing-up crèche.

Native

(By Gub, the 3rd of October, Canada)

One eye
Blind

I see the native
Leaves fall upon the
Side walk

Of the not so native
City

Staring humbly
From the taxi

Misting rain
Curls web-like
Round the frame
That I have built
For you

In my mind

My other eye
Sees

Home

The whole
Vision configured

Two parts

The place I am
The place I dwell

Condensing
Like the rain
That runs
In veins
Across the
Windscreen of my
World

Wipers wince

Waters clear

And you are gone