almost summer nowand days stretch, longerevenings gold and thick withlife open like a window in time – sunstained by berriesrasp and young, goose and strawi find myself, last light, in the gardenwith wattle and string in hand,scissors precarious in pocket, (and it is hard not to be in love herewith this soil this place this…
this morning, most morningsfirst light, while the kettle warmsi take the short dew-walkbarefeet through the gardenup the drive to the goathouseto open the door for the day,release the two hens withtheir twenty two chicks between themlet the goats out among the treesscoop scraps around the balesfor the rabbits after tea there will be feedingand watering…
it is not likewe can wait,burning as we dowith the long ache fordissolution of selfamong the choir of trees –barefeet crunchingin late summer leaves it is not likewe can wait,hem entangledin snag breath lichen twigsand thorn –to part ferns, soft grownknee high, to findthis slow undoingwhere the longing of bonesmeets rapturousthe long silence of trees.…
down at the estuary the riverhas breached her bankpushed the crashing shorein a tumult of dark waterand waves.spawning fish waiton the turning tide. down at the estuarybetween the treeswater flows thick and darkswirling whirlpools and eddiesalong the rocks,scraping sand and old storiesfrom deep poolsto the sea to the sea. down at the estuaryhouses have been…
1.and what does the body rememberrain that runs rivulets down spine,cold stars, warm firehunt, chased, dancing, dancingthe earth so full of teemingthere was no tellingour heartbeat from the night. and who knewthis lonely silencewould come.this slow slide to comfortkeeping death from our doorsuntil death became the unspokenthe why of every moment of half living. does…
1.i had not meant toflush diederik cuckoo fromthe mulberry tree, first light just bird called a songi had not heard closeand loud before. but he came emerald wingsflashing in early sunlanded bright closeon the blossom peachlooked at meeach as startled as the other 2.mid october when you biteinto first peach of the season(even when it…
downbeyond where the slopedropsdeep into valleywhere the treeslivebeyond timeand each breath becomes a prayerto our unspoken godsthere, moss cushioned, will iwaitfor you downin the darkof the waterdeepamong shards of lightswimming the softing tide –thrum of riverquenching my skin,playing my bonesdeer fluteto the forest sky.there in the deepamong our shardsof light, will iwaitfor you unyieldingin the…
i have written your words on my skinto hold while i learn to speak you.shaped my tongue and breath around namesthat ache with the smell of you,murmured exhaled ripplesalong my palateacross your pebble bed backto the edge of sandy placeswhere your forest beingcrowds the shore. i have written what the birds singand the shape of…
if i sayi loveand it was not predictedby an algorithm,is it really loveor an act of resistance.i don’t want to be mapped,charted, measured. i want to say lostand taste that wordlike salt from another ocean.i want to loose myselfagain and again to thissix note feather songthat falls from the treewith late light that poolsamongst root…