tidal mud—
the sound of loss
tugs at me
January 2015
unseasonal rain—
in tomorrow's news
the death of today
day moon cloud—
all that fades without words
fades without words
profit margin—
you diss my idols
I break your face
moss script—
the stony silence
now hers
from the hole
rise the dull thuds
of our goodbyes
emptiness—
I listen for the tone
in my voice
the words I write
stepped over
by a fly
air moves
to my voice—
the heat
where I'm not
shapes twist the entrails
of a cumulus
night deepens—
just the sound of words
to feel this
cattle trough—
a paddock jumps
into its sound
early bird
birthing the world
into which
it sings
cloud-choked night—
closed eyes recreate
the expanse
this moon too
it all comes to
this moon too
autumn sun—
exoticism blooms
from an oak
cloud fade—
the shapeshifting light
of being
in flight the colour of what was
cave weta . . .
the tenuousness
of light
summer light . . .
this path turns away
from the feast
drop by drop cloud-fall of joy
legal eagle
the fine print appears
less blurred
first-footing
a divined stable
star-crossed gifts
moon-filled night—
clouds of unknowing
burn within
vacation—
just the emptiness
left behind
making do with meeting ends
new year heat
my words take refuge
in the glib
temple bell—
the stone cold silence
it conceals
climate change—
the silence of the lambs
gnaws at my bones
day moon . . .
one half of it lost
in the blue
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