one day there was a small girl

there are gaps in my space time continuum there are gaps in my language, your eyes and eyebrows and mouth are flat and undo me.

hook me up to your dynamo, you who have seen it all; patch worked day-by-day and still singing.

edge life, where the blow lands and promises are written testament to change. l

what have you lost, time passing carrying things from our centre then gaps, storm slaps head down we wait to collect again.

You have to speak aloud what your heart desires, and yet find the phrase the other needs for your jigsaw piece to be received.

each pause allows the pushing to ebb and the well of my eyes to fill

the better part of me is mud

blind in January, my legs are guided by the daffodils subterranean latent yellow  power charging  each step further.

Forbearance paying forwards, our yearnings path. If I am lucky I will return as the luxuriant greening of moss, a better teacher.

under the thumb of expectation, dry boards and misery, camped up, wound up. But noises off, something stumbling, falling, a short curse,...

“not my fault, not my fault” said the wind, “out of my way, can’t stop, can’t stop”.   The torn edge of a tree, the loose red dust from...

to be included by strangers to pull the drawer fully open to reveal to the silence the throw of the dice

You too know how to live it big, the sweep of your bough carries a thousand expansive dreams that don’t need to touch the ground.

Dressed for life last year’s bulbs lie in layers of crumbling possibility, seasoned drifters sheathed in every possession trust only...

sometimes the light finds you

I go to war incoherent, immobile yet clothed with the dark wind of an eclipse.

your die-hard stoicism, your dry-rattle ribcage your paper-thin serrations your seeds fly always out and away

it breaks and turns the beautiful blue tide the pin is loosed the load recedes.

Something works its way back, a splinter resurfacing through skin, a double headed serpent. Sometimes there is a cry of longing for the...