Jose de los Reyes

Untitled

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.

Eastward

red light
at post and larkin
eastward,
faithfully clockwise,
at the third corner

a pigeon lands
on its two
out of eight claws.
the rest are gone,
perhaps mutilated

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

words betray
a disorder in your room
we walk

a hundred trees have stood
a thousand leaves have fallen
we are late

the light is fading
i crouch near the creek
glancing momentarily
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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