Sit Still
by Michael Macklin Let the world do her work, sky juggling clouds, waves moving away and returning. Let flowers on the shore become doors or
Mallow
by Michael Macklin They must talk, the flowers and the fishes. One overhanging the other, pale pink at the water’s edge. One world bleeds into
Float
by Michael Macklin We swim out to the smaller world where weathered wood holds its place tugging at its mucky tether. Spread our dripping bodies