-
estuarine
the river flows salt
with this harvest moon,
pushing the sandbank
heavy with night rain,
tasting krill stories and
ice dust on the tide.
remembering herself
as ocean, as cloud,
as rain. -
the sky spoke
we watched it fall
the sky
fractured on fault lines
and spilling light
of creation and smiting gods –
every leaf, membrane and synapse
alive to the storm,
thunder resonant in our chests. -
river swim
even then,
full of the noise of swimmers
and a flotilla of inflatables,
the goose flew
close to her reflection –
the white on her wings
bright in that dark water.
and for a moment
all was quiet
but the sound of her flight
breathing the day. -
bitis arietans
puff adder calls an end to summer
beautiful in her new skin scales
hoping to find a winter home
in the hollow roots of old elder.
Had to get help from the snake handler today to relocate this beautiful and very large puff adder from near our door to a quieter location. We mostly leave the snakes be, but puff adders are pretty venomous and can be quite territorial. This is her in a 25l bucket before being taken to her new home – she is big. -
salmon
it was the silver fish
that came –
an unseen shadow
in that dark water,
until it turned
and caught
the light. -
again
let the day fade
and seep its wild orange
between the trees.
let the darkening sky
stretch with bat addled flight
until even their
flickering silhouettes
shadow between the stars.
and when night falls,
as fall it must,
i shall wear it
soft as mothwing
around my shoulders.
there can be no fear,
this path was made by walking
and our feet know the way. -
because every light casts its shadow (and the sky is swarming with stars)
would it matter if the old gods
no longer owned the sky,
or if the gods had new names
with photos in the paper
and childhoods somewhere tame.
would it matter if the infinite
light of stars became transient –
constellations linear, mobile.
would it matter if between the heavens
and hell was just one small omission,
an old promise to first do no harm.
does it matter that new stars drift our sky
and we don’t yet know what that means. -
first of march
well of course i want
sun on skin in the morning
while the sky shifts
to autumn blue and
days still sing of summer
-
unmapping our future
if i say
i love
and it was not predicted
by an algorithm,
is it really love
or an act of resistance.
i don’t want to be mapped,
charted, measured.i want to say lost
and taste that word
like salt from another ocean.
i want to loose myself
again and again to this
six note feather song
that falls from the tree
with late light that pools
amongst root and leaf
to spill over skin
new lined with paths
made by feet
finding a way.
-
rain
there always was enough
time. stretched, held like a breath
between drops of rain plummeting
from a vanishing point,
one by one.
time enough to close our eyes,
open our mouths to that infinite sky
wait
for the inevitable fall
giddy with the taste rain.