untether yourself and walk out to find the winter sun.

magic held in the last creases, don't give up wishing.

lend me your reflection of a blue sky and a still world.

trust your ear to the machine, who knows what the hill amplifies in its echo chamber.

what worm took the heart wood, when the young world was dreaming.

cabbage to cup, no mere sod, a yellow flower for our theory of mind.

dip into the water. terminus of one world, door to another.

dark water behind the dam pillaged land afore.

your collecting bowl snags every lost particle.

inside there is a party howling at the moon.

first thing is to sing. then open a pack of coloured pencils.

potato. just that. white, lumpen, turgid, dependable. and in hestia's hearth sweet earth.

the ground you stand on cuts from under you. brittle shells the last to go.

walls have sheltered me, each room written over as i walk to the next.

next to me, the space is alive. possibility is calling with encounters from across time.

the shadow-side of invention.

you can turn both ways, open or close, in the turning we live in motion.

at the breaking point i turned, part metamorphosing into something untouchable, part trapped beneath.

the sleight of hand, the white handkerchief, the white bird over the blue sea.

teach me to listen past your sentence. teach me to hold your severance. teach me the world from your window.