almost dawn
an empty whiskey bottle
near the phone

first morning
without my old dog
my face wakes up dry

onion braids
won’t go any tighter
November evening

starry starry night
he wishes he had
a big thought

autumn morning —
passengers in the train
behind their newspapers

shattered mirror —
each image of myself
whole

foggy studio window —
the primary colours
lined up in jars

deep autumn
the candle flame flickers
as I pass

starlit sky
some brighter
than others

nearly winter —
the stilt dancer bows
to a spruce