It started with my shirts,then the cat, photos,words on paper, one by one,a slow transformationbarely noticedEverything monochromewith rounded edges,flatlike Keanu Reeves,completely lacking affectAfter an indoor summeralready leaves turn red,soon will be ash,& I’m living with ghostsof people who are still aliveAlways a child cryingin our neighborhood,wails wafted on muslin curtainsotherwise peacefulin the breezeWhat happens to voiceswhen windows close against coldwith insufficient sunto hedgeagainst whispering
Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden today