Poker faces claim
to each have a royal flush...

A snow-pregnant sky,
threatening to give birth...

I watched the colour of
washed tamarind gleam...

You were there...
Although, quiet as a note...

Silvery tangles frame
a face spun with spider threads...

And...
as a rusting boat slouched sulkily...

On the first day of winter
me good mate sent to me...

As frozen tears thaw
to rest upon a petal...

Bread
freshly baked...

Customised knife
blade, sharpened to perfection...

In the still of night
a shrill scream...

Late summer evening and you are late
moments spent waiting are lost moments...