The last three batches have withered,


curdled in the shell.

This time,

she will

give hope a chance to incubate;

she waits,

pulse a steady tapping, tentative scratchling of

egg-tooth to case,

while cell structure solidifies

and bone knits to tendon,

giving her dreams a chance to

grow feathers

and fly.

Home is Where You Hang Your Heart


Home is where you hang your heart,

a cosy, homespun work of art;

whether rich or humbly made,

if love is there, it’s where heart’s laid.