The tiller is fascination over terror, I am learning how to hang on and let go.

weight lost within wrestles without substance, yet the damage our defences wreak leaves tracks.

we like to find eyes gifting them the vision we fail to find

awakening is one awakening each morning a different universe how to hang on to the hope that tomorrow you return to the garden.

i imagine the savanna waiting for the first laugh, nascent humans, like babies after the first scream, but before the first word. when...

how should i bear this flesh a curtain in the show ground a genetic energetic pulse a tracer kicking the dust.

tears of things swarm summoned from beyond you, sorrow as participation, precipitation even from this spring sky.

no known cure and into not knowing the cherry tree keeps blossoming

have you left? or always leaving, temporary retreat, tactic of choice. from the leaving, what holds the gap, is there anything to hold...

never an island always a web.

the end of the journey is given the glory whilst the ebb and the flow and the grit of gestation hold the form

the path curves to the right, the hill layers in folds, trees striate, branches bifurcate, twigs are leading me round and through a...

holding the apple, holding the worm, we have to take our chances, lightly the wood is ours to trespass

the hill and i spiral hand-in-hand, walking some golden section.

the leaves are lit a brazier in the window an architecture of solace an emblem that claims us

allegiances to distance, resistance, time breath, earth, kin

does it matter how long parts cast off lie dormant?

Go! find your own way home not in the slip stream of habit but naked along new paths.

let us sift again through the co-ordinates of our memory, filter feeders on moments of love

a begonia of three generations illuminates the grand room as we register loss, reserves shaken and how shocks to the system bleed the...