.

Look –

A river flows one way.

Sparks arise from fire –

Chaotic, free.

Hesitant, sincere,

What is becomes

Eternity.

.

.

ember

an honour

.

.

The flow of music once was found

I sat at a piano

fingers found chords

– a mystery

Now the flow occurs as I sit at a computer

a melody appears

a phrase combined with another

rich harmony

– a wonder

.

Judges 13:18

.

We multiply

two

three

four

five

six

.

.

What is – evening and

morning – blessed.

.

For Tom on his birthday.

.

Alpha Centauri

Bright binary star at

Civilisation’s

Dawn part of an

Equatorial constellation shifted

Far south since that time the

Greeks depicted the constellation as

Half human half horse with the Southern Cross as one of

Its legs the Babylonians as a bison with a human

Joined at its torso

Keeping to its course it will gradually

Lift in our celestial sphere

Moving

North towards the celestial equator and then

Over the next hundred thousand years will according to our

Perspective

Quite vanish from sight

Receding amongst the countless

Stars of

The Milky Way

.

.

I dream of light

.

.

Are words the thing they speak about? The cup

that holds the wine? Are they the guardians?

The flags that signify? The anchors up

when ships set sail? The calm meridian

between the hemispheres? The word made flesh

is what religion holds. The texture of

divinity, a cup that overflows.

To find the truth of things – the great because,

retreating as horizons swallow sky –

a noble task. With ingenuity

a sheet of paper may be coaxed to fly,

a likeness sketched with cool veracity.

Skilful lips can imitate a bird,

a miracle – to hold it in a word.

.

.

In the black night

I look at the stars.

Through blackest faith

I see into heaven.

The kernel of light

that broke at sunset

in the black night

buds and flowers.

.

In the black night

my steps are in dew.

The tears of the night

bring vision renewed.

All I have lost

to see your dark face

in the black night

turns to gold.

.

In the black night

my heart crucified

sparkles like ice

in infinite sky.

Boundless the night

is a temple of God.

In its expanse

there is peace.

.

In the black night

I wait to be born.

The night is a womb

that opens at dawn.

Around unseen

on the distant hills

are blazing fires

of morning.

.

.

Tomorrow comes. Somehow we are prepared.

Trees grow towards the light. Above the formless

deep the Spirit broods. At least we’re spared

anxiety – to think this way. At dawn

the blackbird sings. But often we can barely

see the line of waiting trees, nor sense

the hidden sun. What hope – when life unfairly

shifts? Our frailty is our one defense.

A feather is as light as air, and yet

it lifts a bird. The grip of winter fails

before the bud. A destiny is set.

A fleet of ships approaches in full sail.

The face I cannot see is like the one

beyond the trees, where day has just begun.

.