peering through our window,
squinting into the light and
assuming that colour is
objective

then cutting off a square
and twisting the wavelengths
into knots that we can
beat with our fists
until sore

the patches of sky
that we see overhead
turn grey with age
and mottle before us

shall we dance on yellowing grass
and reach for clouds
to coax from them
a halfhearted yes,
I knew him Horatio?

whisper of a breeze
on softening skin
as we plot our next move,
assuming that thinking is
objective

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Scott Bywater

Grew up in Hobart, Tasmania, now living in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Kind of a music guy, writes a bit. Pushing 50.

Latest posts by Scott Bywater (see all)

• objective - 28/06/16
• taking steps - 23/06/16
• a coast is a challenge - 14/06/16
• distant echo - 05/06/16