Calyx opens to the cold.
Yellow ink on paper old.
Concrete floors and iron beams.
Ripping through my quiet schemes.
Monstera grows in a jar.
Wishing you were not so far.
Counting tiles in a row.
Watching all the city glow.
Walk the line of the last train.
Wash the salt and the winter rain.
One more step on the hollow ground.
Where the only ghost is found.
Latin names for every weed.
Sowing every hidden seed.
Faded ink on a postcard page.
Locking love in a metal cage.
Walk the line of the last train.
Wash the salt and the winter rain.
One more step on the hollow ground.
Where the only ghost is found.
Silt and peat in the dark below.
Waiting for the green to grow.
Hold the breath of a dying leaf.
Turn the joy into a brief grief.
Syllables of a secret word.
Something that was never heard.
Treading soft on the granite grey.
Counting down to the break of day.
Rhizome reaches for the light.
Cutting through the heavy night.
Postcard curled at the golden edge.
Standing on a narrow ledge.
Walk the line of the last train.
Wash the salt and the winter rain.
One more step on the hollow ground.
Where the only ghost is found.
Count the steps now. One, two, three.
Just a seed.
