Pheonix in the flame, burnt out in an eternity of rising, regal; sharp sword ringing on the anvil. And what of the labour, the slow...

It had something of the romance of my parent’s homemaking. A small patch of comfort. I took it for all the rooms, a pace wide and a bed...

As she walks into her new life my daughter called me to remember... The days when I walked on the roof of the world, and the future was...

do you remember the dot-to-dot pages of the big childhood puzzle books? Sprawling galaxies of tiny numbers. I'd stare and imagine all...

Across the oak plank of the kitchen table, is a mighty distance, You can follow the grain of time where the sap rises. My carpentry...

My son knew that lichen is not one, but two in one, many in one: chance seeded in chance. I stare at it now with different questions. The...

i didn't know it was my job to find you, these small years when we walked inside each other, then, then the blurring of time. now i...

Its a given maxim 'let rain be rain'. It has no fear of beginnings or ends and touches equally my upturned face your outstretched hand....

What are these shapes i am making? Birds, carriers, winged, eyed; willing beyond their clumsy wood to loose from hand to sky. Love...

Bird: You want something? You expect something? You believe that whip gives you some kind of dominion? Horse: He likes to think he knows,...

In the heart of the forest, in the space before a falling leaf, multiple universes flicker open. A polish poet watches, with scarce...

when in doubt i take the long way around, time slows, tongue thickens, eye's fasten onto fragments, in singularity, a shoot of grass...

If the world runs through us, our experience synonymous to wider patterns,

Let me come closer, I am hankering, itchy, dancing, restless, my beauty too much, it burns all the words that are thrown, the vacuum is...

You tiled that roof, young on a spring morning, sure hands on the slate, forming a pattern from the rapture of the birdsong, heartbeat,...

How does the ground feel without walls, knowing itself naked, as continuity, always curving, eve before the apple. And with walls?...

We hold our questions of wonder and despair like children with stones to drop into a darkening well. Rim bound, feet in the dust we let...

If I could write to you? My love, I would still be stumbling around in the dark for words that might fit for another life time. Rather...

to see again. to turn this thing inside out, pull out the fingers of the glove, check the imprint of the hand cast our minds back, fish...

I am back to hugging trees, my line of scot’s pine and oak. Grey trunks are still in the half light  whilst branches bear the estuary...