lighten my darkness

Sunrise there, way over there,
Way over beyond where the earth bends its shoulder
To see where the morning might come from

Sunrise that colour, the colour of that flower,
That flower, oh you know it,
That flower whose heads hang on the sunken green footways
Where carts used to trundle

And the cumulonimbus, the clouds that a child drew,
The clouds of a fluffy-inked ankle tattoo,
They now frame the distance of soon silver linings

And the sunrise lightens my darkness.

That cyclist hasn’t

That cyclist hasn’t thought through the whole flowers-in-the-backpack situation. Pedestrians are showered with petals like confetti. Some smile and hold hands more tightly, others brush petals from their faces. Perhaps tears. The cyclist speeds on. At his destination, perhaps a red-brick block near the bypass, disappointment waits with its usual patience.