I hope so.

I hope so.

I miss Kora.

The colonial virus

It is a chill

Sharply drawn

Stone cold

Madame Tussauds

Death stare

A featureless parade

Of arid, brittle life

Devoid of warmth

A dry crust

Easy to powder

Beneath heavy hearted

Footsteps dragged

As dead weight

Laden with grief

In old buckets

Full of holes

Corner bought

Cheaply made

Over priced

A seller's market

Succulents are a misnomer

In a desert

Nothing is known

About frippery

Small acts

With a weight

Of consequence

Be kind or be damned

Pass by

On the other side

Leave space

No road is less

Travelled

Strangers enjoy

Scenery

The fall is hardest

On the lonely soul

Carry the weight

Even a short way

Balance the joy

It is a kindness

It will live on

Long after

The living is done.