It's Still Life

I.
The Halfway Point

mid-November leaves
hang gold and metal,
a breathless limp of

summer’s quaking colour.
it melts and moulds to
compost, tangle sticks

and twigs that weave
our thoughts toward
December.

II.
Black and White

there’s a glaring brightness
when you wake-up that
speeds you out of dreams.

it’s a bursting effect like
a broad white stripe down
the centre of a freshly
tarmacked road.

nothing should be
that black and white.
nothing truly is.