i offer

at your invisible feet i offer this set

of bones of this body, mind and soul

this disjointed person, myself, like a poem

incomplete, un-poetic with rhythm

evaporated like the dew drop

on the tropical wild grassland

refuse not this inconvenient offering

unsystematic in its playing

of that flute, emptiness, the mysterious

hollow in the middle i missed control

with my licking the edge, the solid

casing that shone and my spirit misled

© henry victor

on that culvert

at the corner of the street

i will sit on that culvert
until you, or your mother, return
on that path, earlier, together we roamed

if my death were to overtake my wait

i pray to passers-by to please leave me
alone, me mummified, now a pillar of salt
to warn other lovers like me so naïve to storms

weather in higher mountains is beautiful

but could be dangerous to way-farers
awe-stuck, but could be stuck in the avalanche
of love from a tiny heart with large potential