touch to be with you there, at that place of long aheadsbut rejected assurances,of declamatory incertitudeincautious and luxuriant, found emptiness brightly blooming. nothing presses  nor expectsnor projectswithin our time, within time,  within  confident un-absolutes,unspoken un-promises,treading lightly forward.that which is tenuous stays fresh.the comfort lies inblind embracesreaching out sleepilyin night-time placestouchonly touch.

The Bones of Trees

The Bones of Trees The split of earth and sky  blurs in greys as we tilt toward sunlight and hope. The there and back– slate-coloured,  tarmac black.  Dogs pull on leads,  worn red, crossing streets without caution, with panting smiles.  Memorials like seeds, staked by tipping monuments not ours to keep but read. For a Read More


What once were todays.A woman, lithe past my body’s comprehension,standing square, yet in imperceptible motion,sways. Her face wears pride and delight,a moment within a moment,a moment gone, yet resonant.Her friends wear smiles equally bright. People were different then,or are we so changed?So angry, so disarranged?How and when? The woman? My mother. Dark brown hair cut Read More