A collection of poems and other writings...

Wednesday 1 November 2017

Dead Flowers

rustles in the undergrowth
we fling stones

stand silent for a moment
to count the effect -
stillness still

weigh the probable outcome
in our minds until

with nervous glances between us
we push our hands

among dead flowers
separate stem from stem

touch fingers in our searching
and draw from the wrecked bed

a grey frog
eyes sunken from the stoning

a shattering of limbs
soiled with earth

our eyes meet in an understanding
of the creatures death
and the strange power of our hands