Isolation gives fruit to contemplation 

realisation.

We see spikes and charts 

curves and arcs, and a dove 

appears on the balcony bearing 

no twig in it’s beak. 

We’re still in captivity.

When you have nothing but your hands and body 

you have creativity 

and shared economy. 

Imagination reaching the places hands can’t 

how far is far enough? 

What if we sit back to back 

like toothbrushes refusing to interact?

Water runs through my fingers. 

and Rike 

talks about fear and love, 

and I’m thinking how love 

must speak loudest at a distance.

You say I was orange and now I’m blue 

time is bending and skewed. 

I leave your home at 7pm 

and applause cracks buildings in the street, 

they gaze down at me. 

If eyelashes were skislopes 

Eyes themselves must be volcanoes.

The first snowfall in a year 

settles in a discarded peel from yesterday’s aperol. 

Snows kiss is damp and magical.

Shadowpuppets and shadowboxing. Planterboxes and sprouting things. We crack and burn our fortunes. 

I collect decayed bouquets from each room, 

hang a graveyard upon my wall.

All I can have now is the question: 

what did you do that was beautiful today?