We are surrounded

by gold and silver;

leaves woven of air and sunlight,

intricate knotwork of silver twigs.

Scarcity is a tale I tell

to excuse myself.

The world is rich

and hoarded with treasure,

there for the taking.


The soft sky, charcoal-scented, green-scented, perfumed with newness and soft memories of the past
Draws close

Draws near us

Draws round us

The soft water, painted with stolen colours from the world above

Flows under us

Flows round us

Flows through us

The soft world wraps round us
And folds us in light.