Blue –

the water-coloured orchids,

the GNC shaker bottle,

your favourite kettle on the stove,

and the Creemore beer can –

is so majestic, yet morose and missing in itself.

 

And so are we.

The city below makes the sound of a

drainage pipe sticking into cool air,

overflowing with flood waters.

 

The pieces of the puzzle move –

every jaded, free animal and

the numerous happy bits of matter that

cannot, or will not, think –

in a strange, perfect design

built by no one.

 

We assemble reality in our head

like Ikea furniture,

and we make stories to give it meaning

where there is none.

 

Can I be the grand architect?

It is no one’s right to give,

and nothing’s right to take.