the wanting

there’s an open strip of land
where seeds used to root
and fold their luscious leaves
into the richness of their birth

there’s a want in me
and a drop of sun and pearl of rain
will cheat the thought
that such deserts can be greened

I run my fingers still
through the softness of it’s earth
feel the fleeting shadowed ripeness
form again in my distant mind

kelp

languorous weed and kelp
suckered to it’s sea bones
and splayed in mournful rest
burnishing to the wind
a drift of fleshy brine
memory upon memory
a soak over all these years
in my senses
it waits for the turning tide
captive to it’s wishes
to dance in it’s watery trance
once more

bunker

their bones speak
whispering from the solid earth
that gives them harbour

and the grimace
that their past has formed
must be met with a stoical eye

in the blend of all that has gone
and the focus we see
in all that is to come

of prescience

a soul warming day
of thoughtful cold and grey
of quiet movement
and a tolling bell summoning the rain
of which each heavenly pearl
enraptures me more deeply still
into the lanes and light that built my bones
and freshly coat the paths that walk me back
to where I will rest my head once more
when the evening comes
and softly lays me down