we wake before the day now, switch on lights to rouse the sleepers drink tea while the sky forms above the hill and darkness becomes forest and home. outside the air, damp-cool as frogskin, is shaking with song, in trees and hedges small birds grow fat on autumn”s bounty. the goats, pungent for rutting season,…
beneath the thinning of the sky,beneath the stars thathave receded one by oneyielding their light to day,beneath the swim linesof swallow and ibis and goose,the mist has come –drifting across the field,hovering light over the damwhere heron stirs the seasonsone careful footfallat a time.
mist waits low on autumn fields tangled in grass heads brittle as bird legs and bleached of seed. (in and through the pinking sky small wings have purred and wheeled, quickened the day, carved shadows from light) but heron stalks the morning, swirling silence with each careful footfall.
1. it is autumn and the sun has risen golden on our faces morning cool, by noon lilies will sigh with breathless heat. exuberant now the forest calls forth let us live let us live let us live 2. rush is salt wind fresh in the face, the sound of waves pulling on pebble beach.…
life does not live here it is only measured with hands that mark the seconds in silence machines that weigh the beating heart. life cannot live here. life lives deep in veins pounding red with tides and memory rank with sacred purpose. life lives on egret wings lifting light to the sky in the darkening…
beneath the cloud stretched sky all is silence unmoving. birds are whispering their names. my footfall is careful between these trees lest my walking shakes the leaves. am i the quiet that holds the centre, or the calm at the eye of the storm.