nocturne 

strands interwoven at twilight
amber at eve in a braid

we used to tell stories at bedtime
impossible stories we made

such a strange dance we were dancing
a dance we were taught by the sea

to whom do you wave on the shoreline
to whom do you wave if not me

opening

never one for dancing
it is not too late to learn a new

step
not hide in the stairwell
under a mist of concrete and chrome

only
yesterday I attended an opening
while downstairs 

blue
chrysanthemum seedlings were
preparing to yawn at light

like baby birds
yet to show true colours