winter's end —
a neverending story
quickens the past
August 2013
blood red sea . . .
a day's coagulation
of beached words
la petite mort . . .
the coldness of the sea
withdrawing
winter retreat —
love-lies-bleeding droops
into darkness
acrid wind . . .
the scent of night,
a weapon
spring awakening . . .
a child breathes deeply
the winds of war
Anzac Day . . .
an ashen grey sky
reddens
cross tide . . .
godwits imprint
their return
rite of spring —
the path lost
in a delirium of light
unrolling
darkening scrolls —
winter tide
spring elegy —
a morepork prophesying
through the night
what pathos!
how a dewdrop becomes
a metaphor
trembling pen —
river fog redefines
my limits
'property is theft' —
the grey warbler raises
a shining cuckoo
clearing sky —
my GPS intones
its elegy
broadcasting a storm
a widening web spans trees
of indifference
wayward wind —
the whole world glistens
within a web
morning dew
even now perishing
but the birdsong . . .
setting sun —
light rages against
its dying
darkened church —
a votive candle lingers
in the mist
a cosmic storm
twirls through her fingers . . .
butterfly sounds
night vigil . . .
this stillness pregnant
with her presence
earth tremor . . .
the basso profundo
of ancient gods
'fiat lux'—
after seven days,
this vast chasm
expanding night . . .
the sound of a morepork
between stars
crescent moon —
silence drifts out of
my empty page
unmarked grave —
forest shadows rise
against the mound
wordless . . .
a hatchling flutters
in the dark
seen through,
an honesty ripens
in darkness
moonstruck,
a river wanders off
in a dream
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