Sanguine
Twenty seconds,
colour of pale sand of Sahara.
One minute,
mudbrick houses of unknown tribes.
Two minutes,
the stains of dried blood after
murder in sacred places.
Thirty minutes,
the shaman’s dyed red hair
in harrowing halo.
Mutable tones, transforming
the harmony of Sanguine
into unimagined humours
in desolate places, as if
defying its name and
elusive happiness,
beckoning, crying for that
bipolar companion, so much
more accustomed to such
evocations of the deepest and
devastating shades of blue.
Stalker
Yesterday, a yellow bird
was stalking me
watching every move
frozen in flight
wings suspended
hovering, then frantic flutter
and static glide
beak tucked, head bent
eyes fixed on the ground, on me?
Was there a nest nearby?
Young ones to guard?
Puzzled, I stopped and started
testing her moves, then
watched my aerial stalker
retreat, return, then tremble in place
a canary feather breast
seeking kinship in a yellow parka.
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