Another year passed like a whisper
as I mumble into your ears
sudden silent words of sweetness.
Then I stumble upon a broken hill,
a tree half dead,
rocky road that leads to the summer house,
white washed walls,
a red roof.
In between the trees, and long grass to my knees,
it lacks of paint but thrives on pain.
Eternal it will never be,
for rain and fog and termites all take their turn;
chop, bite, scamp, plink.
As I look out my window I can see as the horizon curves
within clouds of white cotton, and sparkle,
moving object—
black bird
sweet bird
love bird.
Love elephant and want to go steady?
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Assistant Editor: Kathryn Ashworth/Editor: Catherine Monkman
Photo: courtesy elephant media library
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