30-17

black bowler
leather jacket
sitting cross-legged
on the street
corner, hand
on the black
dog's back
muddy paws
tucked in
black on night
sheen from the
streetlight
caught like
starlight

30-13

Going increasingly underground, lost in his own hometown. You may see him but don't think it's him you see. Keeps walking until he finds himself again. Keeps walking. Keeps walking.

Blues

30-11

She was tired this morning.
It was all more than she could take.
She knew she could ask for help but for the last time she went back to bed.

Trees and tracks

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30-9

Sitting in his lawnchair on the front porch, wool-muffled, stargazing,
sipping hot tea, he happened to spot the silent blur
of a panicstricken black dog dart across the pine-shadowed snow.