Scatter the ashes Where the snows used to be, Where the summers sang Full of bees, Scatter the ashes When it rains without rainbows, When the leaves are dry, Crushed underfoot, Let the grey fly As the violets blossom, As the black grouse Dance in the fields, Take up the gritty Coarse, unwieldy substance, All […]Read More Sinking
the red blotch on the asphalt was not. could not be. red. more of the grey. grainy and rough, like a dead puddle. the road-marks kept silence and shone in the dark till the cars all left and their headlights with them. in the dark, all red is black. what will remain when/as the liquid […]Read More headlights
Today he would have been 36. Three dozen years on this earth, under this sun. Who knows how life would have turned out, what his story would have been. We, who loved him, still do, I’m sure of it. We measure the time by his death: before he died, the year he died, after he […]Read More june 3, 2019
Listen. Time passes. D. Thomas The green trajectory a leaf Leaves when floating to the floor, Cuts the air in arches. Time measures us all, Time allows us to fall Almost to the ground, and grinds Our memories for its tea. The green whispers in passing, Somersaulting through the landscape Of things that grow and […]Read More green arches
The sand has lost all colour. No, maybe it is the colour Of small, sharp stones that Make up gravel so simply. Yes, the colour of the sharp, Grey, cold and merciful. Her song went unheard. She And the sand now are intimate. Intimate much more than one desires. Grey, cold and so sharp that […]Read More Anguis fragilis. Slowworm.
Her head is white, sticking Out of the green and the grey; She stands tall, all hollow, All proud till All is ready, all set — And now she waits. Summer is coming, its winds Will dry the world, carry Her children to places She will never go, beyond The reach of the sight or […]Read More dandelion
In my dream, we make tea. Black, strong and smokey, Like a gun, full of promise. The liquid pours into cups, The aroma ascends, We breathe: Fingers cradling the hot, too hot fragile shells. The dragons will break out They will sing with fire, They will dance for us, with us Till our wits’ end. […]Read More the drinking