A contemporary poem about after the colour breaks, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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The mural cracked along the old fault. Green fell first, in flakes like dry leaves. Underneath, the wall was not blank— it had been remembering another city. I swept the colours into separate tins. Then mixed the dust with water and wrote one uneven river across the plaster.
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Quiet is not absence but a measurable presence that changes according to distance, attention and care.
A distant figure remains self-contained, carrying an atmosphere the observer cannot own or interpret.
A nature & reflection poem about looking, rooms, eyes, where attention changes the scale of the ordinary.
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