through tiny rips 

the plum blossom pours

forth white

 motorway madness

having missed execution 

the squirrel turns back

 when this wall

was but half a wall

he placed this stone 

 still life

the flowers die

a still death

 this is a nice shell

but there is a better shell

 - the rising tide

 so 

we are dying

so

 reading the poets 

to become the poet 

i am not

 the photographed blossom will never fall for you

 another handful

of broken shells and sand

- nanna please

 crops grown under plastic bags

crops sold in plastic bags

- walking the dog

 multicoloured 

footballers on a saturday morning

under a blue sky 

 and as we arrived 

at the mystery his words 

he was gone