I've just written a new poem influenced by a strange and striking painting I sketched and might make into a full picture. Here it is:
It's What We're All Thinking
Through the tall vacant lanes
see a rust blown sky.
Hear the cries of the wind
kiss a skeleton's eye.
Crisp like moths underfoot,
feel the dust of the dead.
The dried blood of the war
that was long ago led.
