on not knowing. a poem.

it’s in the not knowing that the heart wrestles with pain on one side and joy on the other. not knowing whether to write or not to write, to build or not to build to preach to the captives or to stay silent. are the birds full of such angst as they gather before theirContinue reading “on not knowing. a poem.”


Isolation made me yearn for all the undone to be fixed and put right and so I put up homes and perches for the birds, my own sort of tuppence tossed out the back door where the wee-est search for breadcrumbs. They plead with their broken songs to be heard. And we, safe inside ourContinue reading “tuppence”

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