In the kitchen, after dinner

It seems I spend my life crouched in some cold kitchen with an upturned glass and a torn piece of card,  trying to capture time as though it could still thrive, contained in an elegant dome of my choosing. Moments, shivering and rare, scuttle across the floor wishing not to be trapped nor admired by those who do not realise that these…

The sea and the sky

Each scale on the fishtail of humanity glistens in the light and withers in the dark. The sea is cold tonight. The surface blurred, several stars above. Rushing saltwater, like shards of ice in the eyes. We breathe, whichever way we know how. Oxygenating the blood. Freezing the lungs. Folding the heart. The trenches and…