Talus

I’m sweeping up your worries
They’re going in to bags,
I walked a week to market
And slept beneath the crags.

I heard that there are traders
Who buy and sell our fears;
They hide behind disguises,
They whisper in our ears.

I’m sweeping up your sorrows,
Flung from a coastal talus;
The market’s shutting down,
Love is now the ballast.

Bonsai

Memories shrink in my wash,
So the leaves, once verdant,

Become delicate and almost
Imperceptible, sometimes lost,

Yet nonetheless loved,
Nurtured and now as fresh

As when you placed my hands
On your hips and your obi

Slipped – I can’t remember
The music but I do remember

Your kiss, fleeting,
From where I fall recurringly.

These thoughts are the size
Of bonsai, ornamental,

Propagated, wired
To my wabi-sabi sense;

I walk through the forest
Of their sorrows then,

Counting steps to my death,
Diminutive, less than I was

Back then, when your kiss
Felt like bliss briefly lent.