On The Tray (MS)

My cup overflows

grapes on my plate
black, red, green
I count them
there are none
and no colours exist

Always a gap.
The gap exists for voices to connect
a railway bridge across
a chasm.
The voices echo through the ages
the space, filled with love and pain
forms the bridge

It is always too late
always just at the right time
to be always too late

hands cup to shelter a sparrow
but the bird, too scare to land
flies off, seeking surer refuge
and ends up nowhere but tomorrow
and that's no place to rest.

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