fight

Ringside seat-
a drop of blood
on my dark glasses.

steps

Grasshopper-
a small step for one;
a great leap for another.

greener in the morning

Delia once told you of a time when she thought that death was transitory. I was convinced, she said, that death was a state which existed for only a short time, fleeting, like dew on the morning grass giving way, vanishing, at the sun's first caress. It comes from nowhere and disappears to the same, she said. From nothing we emerge and to nothing we fade.

I find, you said, that the morning dew has this peculiar way of making the grass seem greener; an illusion, of sorts, which is vanquished by the gushing of sunlight in the mid-morning. Free moisture saturates the structure of the leaves creating a temporary flushness, leaving the lawn rich as a dole deadbeat on cheque day - by afternoon, the lawn will have returned to its usual depressing, achromatic yellow-green.

Delia only nodded knowingly, not at all surprised by your observation, and told you of how death would bring the same ephemeral crispness to life by way of juxtaposition. But you'll only have a second to enjoy it, she added. The sun, that destructive ball of fire, is relentless and would soon burn off any moisture accrued during the cool of night.

So is night then life and day, death? you asked, made a little uneasy by this sudden turn in words.

Only for the purpose of this conversation, Delia said. Only for right now.

Light and dark; death and life.

They could each be each, you know.

Light is death to dark and vice versa.

And there is always a transition.

Something in between.

Dew on the morning grass.

The chill of an evening sun-

-making the grass seem just a little greener.