Breath alone
cannot draw flame
from fragile kindling
desire
must also burn there
fires die
suck air hollow
convert solid matter
to delicate ash
rescue earth's fabric
from advancing years
encourage lustrous growth
slow damp return
of impudent shoots
on terraced hills
re-energised soil
a perfect auditorium
of flowers
light
confusion
loss
falling petals
dissolve
in question marks of times
healing or annihilation
blue fabric of
immense night blossoming
no longer
vast blue endless
black blue night
blue endless night
of dream explosions
render lethal blooms
glorious and open
petals folded out
to fall on a world of
waste in a wake
we cannot fulfil
fall there fall perfectly
land soft
be at this moment
incapable distraught
though fully articulate
I know this stranger
you are there
to greet its fanciful gaze
you are the words I shape
breath uttered as
illogical instruction
reminder in extremis
no part of this
us or we
they are multiples
against alone
such vibrant philosophy
takes umbrage at
world's neat denial of possibility
we are ending
it is none
the less endless as a series
O consequence and sequence
your language international
and eternal
those fires
burning in the twilight
warn and encouraging
simultaneously this dream
pure melt water
silt and superficial waste
delivered to ocean's leap
cascading as
complete symmetry
day's dark and latterly
new compound
each syllable
a word
to shape and nurture
though streets ring bereft
and loss
fills autumn's
resilient air
I see and sense
the me of you
the you of me
as silence waits
as walls
and propositions follow
pre-ordained
within a construct
of simple wishes
as silence proposes
its virtual confrontation
and the sound of waves
the sound of the sea
on the morning page
mist ribbons flowing
across the window
drops of moisture
gathered on a screen
I hear the accumulations
falling to leaves
the foliage and the pathways
in the ancient garden
shadows of sunlight
breaking through woodland
above Clock House Farm
half abandoned
to chickens
that roost on marginal boughs
falling and fluttering
squawking as we pass
to cut and collect lumber
with the crosscut
a two hander
balanced
synchronised and rhythmically
precise
moments before the first line
cast in bark
before words
assume significance
the first line on
and the swing
the teeth removing
moist pulp showers
the sound of the teeth
ripping bark and trunk
harmony of the unexpected
dream impossible
protagonist of simplicity
sweating in brown ferns
late afternoon
in our own way fade
because we are alive
to its possible advances
try not
try not to think
I am merciful
we are comfortable
as best can be
I am tiring
it is done
it is final
over and over for ever
and ever amen
night thirteen from twelve
twelve to thirteen
crossing the day
out and in
ten 2006
no magic numbers