from the budding
to the versed
every shade
and gender melt
we have run together
from the day into this
transient dark
collective arms
around an urgent ardour
left clean and bare
as sea washed stones
tumbled
joined
as purified and spent
as we know
we should always be

for the fallen 1914 to 1918

he had risen
from the clawing clay

that would keep
his flesh and fears

the stench and guns
now distant waves

and in the splintered trees
the ravens black jewel

the overseer of loss
beckons him on

‘it’s as it should be
there’s nothing to be done’

 

the wind came
out of exile
from the north
tempering the
somnolent summer
that turns a head
and slouches south
beaten for now

it freshens in
respite for
heaving lungs
and tacky skin
blowing purity
through thoughts
simplifying
the next stretch

into mindful
preparations
to slow our
need for the world
to forgive
its expectations
and leave the cold
to steer our course

it was the innocence
of a question
that floated across me

‘would you rather..’

like an oversized bubble
readily iridescent
on its surface

‘live for ever..’

hiding a universe
of existential depths

‘or to never have..’

that stopped me short
I shirked only for the time
it took to breathe

‘been born at all’