Like the spring clover his life came,
one among many, a brother.
The sun and new moon and dancing
bees all glimmered on his flowering.
Some days the rain fell, awakening
the grass in rich green, and feeding
the hidden tentacles of weeds.
And when in the heat the clover turned brown
he shared in their suffering, and daily
as more of the field darkened,
his tears lay fresh on the ground.
Trees of sickness
in the night
Let me see
your silhouette
From your branches
let me take
leaves of healing
Black bird flee
your wretched nest
Welcome
bird of dawn
We lay our head on the ground
above us the night sky
the air was light and warm.
The harbour looked out
into the dark sea. The lights
of distant ships were speckled
across the ocean, single lonely
fires of human life. The bay
was filled with the roar
of unheard blackness. Nearby, the
lapping of water against the pier.
Through a crack in the window
the morning sun on the leaves
reminded me of joy.
The vine fruits in summer air
and languid days of heat.
The starry nights dip its leaf
in pools of eternity.
White light strikes the rocky path
leading to the press.
And stinging heels release the dye
that stains the sky and earth.
falling bird
wind
old planks by a tree
Shawn grass blades between concrete slabs
Pear shaped leaves
A wandering ant
A turquoise sky
Birds called as the rain began to fall.
A glowing cloud floated towards the trees
until the rising wind pierced its light
and curtains of rain silenced the magpie’s call.
After a time the sun returned and saw
a landscape lit from within, the grey clouds
covering their jewel of light and summer trees
holding dense flowers in orchards of red.
The bird sang again too, released from water.
Dry calls now, foreshadowing the coming days
of heat, the thick shadows dividing the ground,
the wind lifting the heavy veil of the earth
and showering the sky with reflections of solid glory,
the inheritance of rain, the conquerer of airborne kingdoms.
breath
balance tree
space
