WALK

In the thicket

I step,

deep into

bushes. Dry

dense green

spotted with

frail fancies.

But that smell

persists

of dreams

and life

in decay.

Right in your lap,

(I am teasing life)

It dares

to linger

right where

you feed,

rear your own,

it sings

its eerie lullaby.

The blossoms

giggle, and the

saplings rustle.

They always have

fun out of

our squabbles.

I search where

It comes from.

My right?

No behind,

Left? No

Above?

Its everywhere.

She reveals

quietly as

she prepares

for her siesta

“among many

of my works

Decay is one

and my

favourite, I say.”