Geebung

By | 12 February 2026

bruised purple clouds
find each other
on the evening storm
riding down the last of the light

bracken ferns hold
droplets
The Poet’s Wife
intoxicating with fragrance

joining the orchestra of poets
sitting in zazen
soaking scarred ankles
in the dam

I wonder
Do I fit in?
Do my words reveal?
Do my words work?

mook mook, calls
full moon to rise
lichen tea had a peculiar taste
I can’t quite remember the night

dawn, awake
a black feather
beside my head
at my feet, a broken vase

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