don't dream above your station. rank is written into your genes. or cut the ties that bind and walk off the path.

the boy still loses his future, the mother still shoulders the wheel, the giant is still waiting.

we reach, from birth rocking in our body, for movement forwards.

the flush of your passion, thin skin barbed, outrage scattered on the verges.

dear king of the underworld do you have any advice?

dont mess with the voice that rises from the deep

hand of the sun god, why lay waste? can you not return the symmetry to the horizon and halt man slaughtering all.

how long have you lain in your cradle, waiting for someone to whisper

name each point of light as you pass and the dark will take care of itself

if i dowse the land for love i am led again, to the crush of moments when you opened your door and smiled.

imagination, like the blue of sky, sometimes seeds will, like the sky seeds rain.

under the concrete in secret parallel, your steps shade mine. seed of my seed split, i drop 6 acorns in patient barter.

i have nothing to give you. look, nothing is spare. no, i cannot surrender the wealth in the circle of my arms.

the cut for the key comes first, then i press my eye to the fissure hoping to find something

does fear still ask for its dues, colonising shuttered space? in the maintenance cycle, what was eroded?

standing shoulder to shoulder bearing coffin and kin, intimate gestures borne through generations, faces recognisable to themselves.

from the legion of voices that muster each morning give the bugle to the ragged one who calls persevere

the field spreadsheet the fence last centuries sums the grass supple in the wind

storm stripped, you re-clothed me in care, the nests feathers are not extra but the touch of love that is life.

your peace gated against the many who pitch and sink in the cities tide