cycles of remembrance
do hang on me for a long time now.
I think remembrance creates trust
and trust makes wholes emerge
and perpetuate.

Do you think about trust?


These are the words she wrote me;
a story-girl making paper-planes
of words to fly like storylines.

These are the words she wrote me
to respond to the words I once wrote.
She flies back at me like a full-page mirror
that I read as my reflection.

Little to compensate except for
those storylines that lie as labyrinths
of our lives: stories within stories

where we each learn what is trust.


17.21
9/03/10

I do not breathe;

breath runs through
me as I be a witness
to its path:

I do not act
although my belief
tells me that I do.

So I think that I act
as forces beyond
compel my movements.

In each thing
we participate
yet in ways

foreign to how
we have been
trained to know.

Eyes open blindly
we choke on air
as we sink to swim.

There is grace
under each stone –
in every breath.


17.00
27/03/09

Arms holding
in the madness
tight

as wind blows
howls

wraps around
strangles slightly.

I can sleep
although
her body too warm

and sweat sticks
for no reason
against my slumber.

Why she cannot
shed her insistence
for these coverings?

Madness
in the night’s
hot embrace

holding tight
as wind curls

and chimes ring
hung outside
like silver bells.


22.22
23/03/09

Change comes to the one who bends:

like raindrops that fall upon a leaf,
that trickle from its wet green spout;

I sway and droop with the needy,
with the new – if change is what

is required to be near to you.


14.04
20/03/09

Here stands a man who cares:
who is open to being used.

Who is ready to receive your blows
when you need to release your scream.

When your anger bursts out against
the unknown and feeds your fears:

let it all burn against the skin of the man
who stands here patiently waiting…

he knows that he must absorb the punches
from the one who cries inside like a child

to understand what it is to be loved yet
too afraid to dance out of the darkness.


20.55
16/03/09

From where does the change come
if not within yourself?

From the spheres that hang like
baubles in the evening crested sky?

From the sliver of silver fish that
leap from the river to waters high?

From the speckle of worn grass which
tries to show the traveller’s path?

From where and to where, I’d like to know…
Tis perhaps from thy heart

that mysteries murmur
and call as siren song?


22.39
11/03/09

Your power is as subtle as your
Subtlety is powerful.
Like the unknown alongside of you.

Subtle as it streams along your veins
carrying the carrion call. Subtle as
the Icarus fall which none did witness.

More subtle than the faintest wink,
the driest tear, the slightest pangs
of longing.

Subtle it is, subtle it be. Closer to you
than craven desires or deepest fears.
More subtle, more closer, more within you

than you would ever care to imagine.
This is your power. This is the love
that makes you.


23.41
7/03/09