what is it you want? something you've not yet found in those long nights of whispering and many-tongued dreams.

who will come? who will help?

yew seeds set forth take their time to move from dormancy to growth lessons for my slim attention

you say it might be tonight that you dream again of flying journeys that trace beyond yourself

anticipation bone deep for the silver arrow that draws the summer

how will we read the smoke on the horizon?

yellow north pull seeding south fault-lines east to west

i am carried on the rise a bubble from iron to the blue

roofing generations children of ghosts years ago drawn into peat now reflecting my years on the glass

how do you find yourself? here amongst and within the myriad.

the world's freedom without our craving so hard to figure. even here, craving to have it to myself spills

hollow hedge the pathos of old honours tied to the thicket scant cover won in other springs yet the green spies, the wind breathes.

each wisp counts a sum only the field knows

your bedroom had plastic stars on blue-tack, todays field lay under cirrus tonight prone under the plough.

hold me together

beyond the new lambs glad-ragging the morning i watched the slow formation of sheep, heads down plugging the gap

kneel, coming back to the same scrap of life. Yet who tides the ground here? can your worn duty lift the veil and see those who have no...

foxglove lady a childs finger beckons the future nodding the silk of your bell dress and the yellow of your hair falls like pollen.

maybe its like being inside a whale, picked clean and tidy, swimming in a stone sea, whilst waves crash on other shores

magdalene the stones slung on your back wishes or curses not yours but ours to own