Silver is the colour of quiet
A gift to lie upon
like sweet-smelling straw

Blue is still as a beached pebble
Yellow,
nimble as a fork

Trees are green for a reason
They understand death
– a beloved uncle

Flags were invented by the wind
in red and purple
for her own pleasure

These rocks are small
– they too deserve kindness
They huddle in front of the fireplace, crowing

How I will love the look of you
pink, from the oven of my arms

Shhhhhh
I’m on the brink of something
and I don’t want to miss it