beyond the tears and fearsome expectations
beyond the floods and scratching violins
we hold our heads above the rising tides
at long last some form of peace we conquer
some form of peace we find
dream
sun
light on your skin
Northern hemisphere change of season
scaly winter, tortoise-slow and grinding,
devours the meat, the sweet, all it passes over
but as strong hands roll the stone away
life bursts from the splitting seed
and the spring sun is once again resurrected
the song of the strings
the song of the strings brought me to this sticking point
where neither fore nor back is plausible
I sailed I reeled I keeled on the rocky shore
my eyes charmed fast shut
my mind blinded to the future
and still the song continued
as the sun spun round and rose and fell
at the end of the day or perhaps at the onset
I lay exhausted, spent
the song of the strings became me
neck curved
neck curved
eyes cast down
seeking sustenance
or ideas inside
hunger ever present
Stars?
Stars?
What do I need with stars
when you are in my arms
and I in yours?
He sat in the sun
He sat in the sun on a bench in the park, his jacket too heavy. ‘May I?’ said the woman who appeared out of nowhere, pointing at the other end of the bench. ‘Aye, of course,’ he almost said but instead grunted and nodded and looked away. It’s not much of a story to tell, the woman may have thought, unless I invent that he is famous or an actor or identical to that man who had done that terrible thing when she was only a child. Her parents had turned the newspaper over but she had found and read the article, following the words with her finger. The memory had stayed with her like a fishhook through the lip. She sat and did not look at the man, who did not look at her.
He did not answer when she first spoke to him, nor later when she stood up and left. All he could think of was his daughter.
they lie face to face
they lie face to face
with gravity forgotten
forehead touching forehead
left foot touching right
each waiting silent
for the other to open their eyes
if the brain
if the brain is the locus of thinking
the belly the organ of loss
the heart must be focussed on loving and leaving
approaching mountains to conquer and bridges to cross
Morning walk
chaffinch
robin
wren
few-flower leek
wild garlic
goldfinch
robin
wren