roundabout

we move in circles through the mist
and chance to come upon
a moment spun in silver thread
a hanging fragile frond

we breathe out fear
and snap its hold
we tear its promise down
and then we angrily declare
the world a hollow mound

we only see the small we know
and too much emptiness
the in between, the subtle light
the shadow is repressed

round and round we play at life
we bargain and we jest
we build our minds, we plough up faith
and burn the place of rest

then creeps the night;
and all is silent.

indira's net

silver drops coat the net,
hang obedient to the call.

floating mirrors curving memes,
reflect the one that's all in all.

every piece precision placed,
floats free

and anchors

in between...