From the pines’ embrace the wanderer plies
to a green stream’s niggard bank.
The restocked eider flounders to wing,
weakly sputtering water about.
Dusk crawls into a boring park.
A lazy deer starves in a copse,
its blunt snout snatching at a question.
Our mind is nothing but incursion.
An old pot boils on the fire.
Expensive fibre dries on a branch.
At night, our mustard’s yellow glitter
grinds the skin of charred banger.
From The Bad Mother (Paha äiti), 2012.