Smoking another coffin nail
To ease up your stilted words
Trying to get your message out
Tracing all the lines
Of hurt
Like a map of the world
sunday wordle
Orange
Seventy-seven years have passed
And you still interpret the world
In bouquets of orange
Breath
The earth sighs its breeze
Like it’s following
The deflation of my lungs
And if you listen carefully
you can hear the leaves
Scrape across pavements
Tasting their crunch
on the tip of my tongue
I reach out to the world
My stone face chiselled by salt water
We sigh again
Like the rising and waning of a wave
Turning still
