Jon Collins

A gentle mist of rain falls No bird song, only breeze Fragile, moist, the moss calls Takes its moment Glistens in the trees Clammy warmth, from sky to soil Damp salve against the

Write of what you know, they said. So I wrote Of the voices In my head. 22/08/2022

Something, Anything Lines on a page lay low Faced with the weight of an empty soul Who knew that a vacuum could feel so heavy The crisp, 80gsm with its manufactured margin Red-lined,

I see nothing past The shadows no longer cast For the sun has gone 20/07/2022