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

lucky is the path lucky is the cloud no need to be other than

even you can wear a coat of gold your breast pulsing like a lighthouse

release the gesture ask without apology for your place at the table

if you keep crossing things out the dark closes the door

the horizon does not give up offering a pacemaker for the strand of our bodies against the tip of time

next time try less don't put every plea in the prayer grace falls in tears of rain

matter presses, fingers a way out of itself, into itself, such persistence.

hooked into dog eat dog rust from a bucket that always had a hole.

what i leave behind is already disappearing, the line pulled back through itself the form dissembled.

you grip the measure brick by brick, arms-length the world: and to unwall?

the nakedness of worms strips me to a pulse, longing for the rain to unravel me; leave me; ghost on the highway.