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The murky waters become still As it moves its gills The fishes and eels flee The fishermen switch their motors with fear Which responds with no wear or tear The serpent is coming The ever blowing wind stops

My delicate child, So ill, yet again. Twelve years of life, Spent fighting, for breath. Your sun-tinted chest, With the chocolate brown mole, above Your top, right hand rib, Raises, ever higher,

I lost my poem, I had it earlier. Written out so neatly, on a pad, With my favourite writing pencil, The one with the black and grey stripes And the paint missing near the letters HB. Where my teeth had chewed in frustration,

It's funny how our eyes are almond shape but we don't see things in that shape, when I look to the edges of my eyes it doesn't end, I just strain to see further, the shape of my eye giving me the illusion I can see as far as I can stretch.

How was it we came to be there: Our backs to the restless ash, listening to it whisper of the warmth of a September day Picking at blades of yellowing grass I felt something pass overhead, a shadow

Two young cousins are always at odds with one teasing merciliessly and the other seeking to get even. Today, their rough-housing takes a deadly turn and they discover a little about themselves and about each other in a most unexpected way.

swallow...

Why is he looking at me like that?

so instead went outside every evening of the month to watch the sun set.