Leaves of meaning in a changing wind
whirl and chase the vortices of form.
that reaches from the worlds’ edge.
What words can count or numbers speak
in this storm of complexity?
But new stories bud. Twigs reaching
for air and a glance of light.
Voices call from branch to branch and
flash bright patterns in the air.
As the world pours into lonely eyes
the message gathers force and moves.
If words can tell us what we mean and
what we’ll be then stories will be told.
It’s a limit that we’ll never reach or find.
The mystery moves on.
28/ 01/ 04
Light on water.
The will of the world weaves out
patterns of madness: From chaos
to the carolling of epiphany,
uncertain sanity holds itself tight.
Some see sense and dance quietly
to the careless laughter of death.
Smiling maybe, not looking, feeling
the fall of their footsteps. No more.
From blinding light darkness follows,
imprinting visions onto closing lids;
nonsense and mystery the fabric of
our stories, stitched with reason.
As light on water skates with the wind
so a passing mind can catch the flash.
Hold it briefly, while blood flows, and
intern a thin phantom of thought.
Shadows and a glow of mist.
A wall shifting, flickering,
with a story told in gaslight.
Vapour streaming from a door.
and escape into the night.
Long-laid walls wait for day.
Old stones full of echoes.
Rain has washed and forgotten
stains that remain. Stone grains.
The city is forever, never really there.
Hands shaping it and gone to bone.
Gas hissing and burnt away;
the same then as now.
In cold glow. Wet neon.
Ancient lights still lit.
Other lives, not quite seen;
always a corner away.
They are smoke and laughter,
and a smear of soot on the wall.
08/ 07/ 04
It is the season of grief. But under the grey
drizzle, and clouded horizon, fear is just
a lack of light.
The awe rises in me. Each day.
And I rise, in body and in mind.
To your touch and your presence.
As you give my reasons back to me.
When you are gone I am halved,
quartered, reduced to my need.
And the day waits for your voice.
The open pattern of naked trees,
letting light and air pass,
passes my sight. Cold air breathing.
I stare towards our future.
If I can be one half of what we are
my courage, and my shame,
will cover my bared skin.
A double weave of strange armour
that catches no light, stops no love
and is visible only to you.
My lady who walks with me - - -