colour becomes manifest saturated with sound energy, pink gold trumpets dawn striping the wood, sending grey to lilac.

I am holding my forehead to the ground Whilst embers settle on my back And seeds turn in the earth

eye in the skies dome, welling light.

are we back? did you notice? back in the same old puddle? let’s give up all the words.

It doesn’t take much, a small parting of the way, a shift of surfaces an incision, a gap, a game of chance, of give and take, odds on...

returning to the field, returning to my knees the stack kindles and burns the passion of the tree

a tree sparks in the dark greening above the felled stack, the symmetry is an alter lining me up to fall to my knees.

change walks with you in the lee of any approach the shadow of things ending and beginning.

now the body remembers how, how thin wishing is compared to being.

I depart the propriety of my face and scream. perhaps its was there all along, left over from birth and now inevitably erupting, when the...

not watching for but waiting, four years since your stark white flanks cut the field Not stag but ghost, not ghost but omen, the flat...

no longer does further lead longing. still days come, and pain may wait in-bound, yet remaining, in revolution with the world on its...

The miracle is the appearance of the last beech leaves,  wrens skit and tumble indecipherable, brown turning life in the dim light I am...

the wind dampens my back the rain is sea spray and seal cry still borne in land, frozen I take from the gorse spines and sustenance

the paths are strewn with your red weeping the storms brush out your hair it tangles and matts the forest floor so we cannot fall through...

I test the papery cowl, take it between my lips to taste how far away life is. February haunts with waiting, I hold the thinning gap and...

music fingers everything with tender intelligence

Turning over. Please do not let me lose the miracle of revelation.

earth, water, plants; they don't blink in and out, dither or forget themselves. i shut my eyes and lie down in homage.

Swelling from the day seed potential yet to be mouthed I imagine tasting tongue tip to cold bud of water, each a song-note that casts its...