sail counterclockwise
the way you like
your belly rubbed
a coil in kairos
starboard-side, skua
port-side, puffin
make haste with minke
while the wind shines
your creaturely ark
ashlosh in the wet
in the North: dark water
the yawning horizon
swallows you whole
the great, elemental maw
sudden sun
unsure if you still love her
after all this time
after all this
beneath the surface stuff

this is the edge
of a world where
form unforms
unfolds and unfurls
in to the
continued presence
of clarity writ large
where lashes
and froths and
sonorous bellows
erode old
stone cottages
soon to be
washed up
shells embedded
empty
upon the battered hillside

I’m afraid
it’s going to have
to be this way

crinkled and cool
not the ooze
you’d hoped for

but take solace
where solace is
in shades of linen

and the whispers
of a kingfisher
fishing

in moments
which break
a sky of stone
we breathe
from root to tip
extending our gaze
through blue
starwards but
rooted still
knowing heaven
on Earth
we sing merrily
having landed
here, where
we always were

a caw a cackle a crow
nuthatches beckon
behind broken branches
scatterlings atop tombs
feathered bodies
a bed of weeds
collared doves call
among the aches
of rusted gates
it’s about capture
in some way
the place with the most death
is the place with the most life

the keen magpie
gathers small homes
arranges them
according to mystery
organic architectures
emerge, tumbling
the magpie
among sea critters
flutters, with glee

through three windows
the light conspires
to show me my I

ever the mood
pitched towards verbosity
bound for profundity
oriented in melancholy
but here
is a small
quiet miracle
joyfully enmeshed
in all nothingness

my mind is a rock
knocking against
a shore I’m ashore
wracking bones
scattering stones
runes in a seal spine
tell me this mind
too, is mine

I watch him wander
traipsing into the wild belly
a line astride the flank of earth
he traces the emerging contour
feet insistent on the next step
behind him, a bygone horizon
carves a pale yellow chasm
between soil and sky
a late autumn sunset, meek,
unfulfilling in some way
he ventures further
into the gut of the valley
the richochet of white water
perforates the basin
myself, still watching
across the breach
he moves on, I remain
a horizon in every direction
like a circle enclosing us
in this never ending world

I am sorry
that your hearts
fall on deaf ears
I am sorry
that your steps
fade unnoticed
into the night
and I am sorry
that your tender glances
are glazed over,
for the human mind
knows pearls
before swine
but little
of the tragedy
in that truth

you and I
we march with the wind
choosing to be cold, bitter,
just so we can feel true warmth
in the end

a moment
underfoot
just a moment
an old moment
a familiar moment
shadows curve
into a moment
I walk
between yellow
stone walls

rolling bones
and smouldering
among crinklepleats
squashed mud
and shade

glinting curiously
fragments of a self shed
I do not want
to polish the mirror
in spite of myself
these constant births
prove tiresome
to those who wash
away the blood
a sleet of red
to brown
to peach
and back again
reperceiving
resoiling
reemerging
do not be fooled
into thinking
you’re anything
more
than dust,
you are nothing
less

softly swell
blushing
and wet

woven into inertia
but breathing still

skin inside
flesh outside

death
blossoms
and we
rejoice

the salty mist
of bodily moors
relief sighs
up on the pane
of perception

breaks the cold

didn’t I tell you
before
that your body
breathes clues
and that breath

breaks the heat

pressing up against
a tired heart

it weighs infinity
or so it seems
this rock of grief
no longer inanimate
it beats like a heart
with inert cadence
alive and kicking
cracking, squashing,
suffocating and, alive
I crawl under it
soothed by its force
scathed by its burden
I sit, wedged in darkness
wanting to know
the next day
a curious wave
knocks it away
and another day
rolls it back gently
into my grateful hands