Died in the brown wood. Dead in the green.
An altar. A gravel road. A pointed stick.
Fallen starling. Ruptured canvas born.
Straight in the eye. Helpful breath.
Struck in the middle. Full of apologies.
Fully alive in a garden. Charred and dramatic.
An ocean in your ochre pouch. Known as it.
Given a laugh. Something for a bit of art.
A beat down choir in drive. Then a threat.
No. I’m not ashamed. Not ashamed am I.
But it is a shame. There is a shame here.
Somewhere. There's a shame. Not for me.