On the window ledge

an arrangement of house plants

scorns its wild cousins

Writing of love songs

a night of story-telling

in good company

he plucks the right notes

on the strings of my guitar

as a river flows

between the branches

a suspended water drop

on a spiders web

Through a dark channel

thirty silent listeners

watch my talking head

Adorned with raindrops

a wire grill, its glass long gone

a door stands open

Visor down gloves on

position a magic wand

a million stars

In the old foundry

dark as night a liquid flows

towards him white, red

An old brick building

majestic still it stands proud

here they once baked bread

Through a fence a dog

looks on while a flock of geese

accept the field’s gifts