• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 09

Safety with small things

An Argentinian artist gifts us South America from Berlin
onto my white paper. I peer through the frame at artisan food
in Shropshire, small portable pockets filled with choice.

Sitting on this broken chair in the yard a visitor drops by
as tiny as a black full stop it walks the white paper.

Already I can feel the quiver of social distancing wasps
tuning up, after all the locusts announced their time to visit
and right now mice are living it up in Australian semis.

Tomorrow the rivers might rise and wash the roofs, or not
to be outdone, the earth beneath our feet rise up and burst
asunder, shaking us from our beds.

We are trapped beneath a cloud's frown and I will stay in
this halt of time while my dot walks the line heading towards
South America.