blank like the stars are blank
and the leaf
and all the leaves
and the carpet
and the ceiling
nothing brings relief
when not even love has meaning

only breath
only breathing

morning coffee

things fall apart
cannot be repaired

for that reason
we sometimes despair

a path leads up the field
towards the ridge

then peters out

they should put an archive
of broken things up there

where uncertainty
meets intangible air

at first light

I could photograph them
put them in a book

a resource for all the world
it would only take a moment

to flick through
we are disposable

even the things
I could not photograph

belong up there
past care

with morning coffee

stand back from the edge 

these are common coins
hang a curtain across the day
build an imaginary marina
and go sailing
sun dappling the water
white apartments
reflecting in the bay
take a deep breath
stand back from the edge