At the wall, Ruano found peace. Ruano found peace in the way lines met and intersected: bricks and pallets the darkness after matter... and that water pipe fending off the sky. "Shelter is a feeling," Ruano knew, and felt himself hugged by the wet smell and the shuffing of somebody’s plastic bunting and the low light and even the colour of the fox-gecko painted on the wall. To his left the fence was like a matrix listing layers of green, and the road sign buried its face in a tree. "Going nowhere" thought Ruano putting down his load, watching leaves tickle the bucket's edges moved by the same warthog breeze that snuffled his hair and iced his bones. "Autumn", thought Ruano. The sky would paint its lines more fiercely soon; it was time to find a new place. This would do here between the pallet and the wall A new place warm and sheltered: his own compost. Spring and the worms would know him, the darkness after matter.
Written for Visual Verse Anthology May Issue