The great halo

A halo goes around.

Its silent steps all over

trample out the darkness. 

Under its gaze

creation reaches cremation. 

There is no stop. 

The march continues. 

A life is born.

Released slowly 

onto the four feet of survival. 

A tongue swoops down

reaching everything in one thick swab.

The umblical cord wears out. 

Splits, sprouts and dies into many. 

To join the march again. 

A life is borne. 

The halo goes around. 

The unsaid

There is so much unsaid 
forming a great margin 
for the little 
that gushes out into the main.
There are more spaces
where ecosystems grow 
without anyone's notice. 
Without any loss 
the ruins of a moment
become the background. 
Little things left to themselves 
comeback to their shelters. 
Outside, it rains 
and the puddles boil with essence. 
And death climbs out of the coffins 
to be that supportive back 
to the boquet of life. 

A midnight vignette

The mid-night breeze goes around
Checks twice, if the world
is locked up warm for the night.
Four feet alone, together remain awake
in a tent of yellow mist
hanging from the street lamp.

Clasped hands are air tight
holding on to the time left.
Beyond this, the night
clouding over everything.
Dark blue or black
it is opaque even to imagination.
In its velvet shoes a cat goes past.
A dejavu with sparkling eyes.
There is a quick hug.
Fear doesn't spare togetherness.
That hanging fear for tomorrow.

All this while
shadows are at work.
They seem to clue in:
Now is the time, now is the time.
To breach another boundary.