Tillandsia and Cyanea

Today I saw the purple fairy

caress the garden’s pink tongue.

She summoned her sister

and together they danced

among the long waterfall of grass

sweeping across the lands.


And then they vanished,

leaving only the fallen dust

of their violet wings.


I waited, my wonder

still clouding my eyes,

and I saw the ground

around the dust erupt,

sprouting forth twin pups.


The Stasis of Soft-scaled Wings

Hanging around beneath the canopy,

your long, green dreadlocks

dangle in the air,

sucking the moisture away from the world.

As you drink, I see the life

return to your slender body,

the colour of your skin

ripens once more

and you rise up,

reaching for humid skies.

Your soft fingers remind me

of silver-white moths

floating on the breeze towards

the light splashing down

from the stars.


The Feasting of the Pitcher

Dive into my belly,

you quick-footed buzzing fool.

Let me trap you

among my garden of dead.

No more flitting from

place to place, never

content to rest for more than a day.

Leaving only trails of disease

behind, why would they ever appreciate you?

Let me drown you,

so that your dull hum is finally


No-one will mourn you,

but I promise to stand forever

as your monument.