Poems

Leaving

Ants swarm the daydreams
then drag away
 
line by line
the oozing salt-streams
mined from the wounds
they carry
to the sand silos of the anthill
 
cutting through the cartilage
the futility, they smell its blood
they talk to each other in the dreams
 
those who light incense
for themselves
know too well
why time burns daydreams into smoke
 
these anthill mines
that conceal the sandstorms
are migratory
 
the sand changes colour
spitting out the likeness of dream
given the signals, the ants
flee the anthills
 
from the wrist’s open vein
mysteries seep out
and on the pooling blood
the evening sun shines

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