Jose de los Reyes
the landing of a stem.
the belated companion of the stem,
a liquid excrement coloured yellow and red.
the path diagrammed by the third visitor
a thin, tiny dark brown insect.
the arrival of a large dry leaf,
ending a movement with a pose
then rolling away.
a gust of wind lifts the edges of a journal's page.
the whisper of a speck alerts the watchful daisies.
at post and larkin
at the third corner
a pigeon lands
on its two
out of eight claws.
the rest are gone,
the water streaming towards the sewers
refreshes the pigeon
while it is drinking, i am given
permission to leave
a parting glance reveals oil and paper
clinging onto its tail
An Invitation to Walk Through a Forest
a disorder in your room
a hundred trees have stood
a thousand leaves have fallen
we are late
the light is fading
i crouch near the creek
to see where your eyes bow
a stream in a forest
a sight i haven't seen in ten years
tell me nothing has happened
tell me nothing has changed
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