by Mark Nenadov

The Lord sprinkles

a little green powder

into the drab mix

of colours left over

from Winter’s painting

and we see the sun

and the rain

which chases

the Winter away.


I see a bird crawl into a hole

and then a rainy day comes

laying out a composition

of raindrops on my window

and the fog obscures

the horizon’s parade

and the charade of civility



those wheels

toss spit of the road


with contempt

on my windshield.