snow crosses all borders. can you will
it to fall on the feast of the czar? plums
and avocados rot in anticipation
of colours morphing in the blustery wind.
fermentation under the powdery white
blanket passes all understanding despite
intricate synapses sparking around
the table. all this white! why not
orange? the czar with his stained
bib remembers fondly the perfect
spheres of his tender belches amid
snow blown all the way from persia
under the orangey stars he cannot see.
can you?

 

 

 

© Camille Martin

first published in Moria