snark tracks lead
through the brush
claws out
strafing the mud
be careful how you
pick your path
which poisoned fronds
to push aside
which turns to make
their golden song
will weave false
threads in your ears
and draw you like
a moon pulled tide
to a hidden grove
their craven moot
where they gnaw on
the bones of their young
her hand rests
gentle on the heather
with it’s thousand silent bells
not persuaded by
the unsettled breeze
to give up a song
but a whisper instead
from the sea
always she waits
pinned like a dusty moth
to a promise and a doubt
her hope chasing the lost
fire of a sunset over
the hungry ocean
a devotion to redeem such
joy in her heart again
a blue coraled night
saw me away
the catch in my throat
bagged up with my bones
in a care lined sack
I watched steel birds
cry their farewells to the
naked amber streets
of my sugar grimed
balm of a city
it’s resonant hum
my ambient song
they took this fledgling
to disappearing shores
and a stretch of sea
that was just
a pig with wings
until the wind rushed in
and pulled me clear
his boat lulls
as the hooks wind in
hung with iridescent
ocean blades
little line dancers
of flailing breath
that twitch and slither
into the trough
a century of seasons
are stowed behind
his watery eyes
though he does not weep
for the sleek and flesh
he has no time
or gaps to fill
his leathered hands
a constant husband
to the sea
and here he will be
until the fish run dry
until his wispy smile
no longer persuades
the belly of cloud
to let the sun through
these little spirits that we make
and unfold with such
delicacy and wonder
have only to be held
in ardently cupped
and edifying hands
surrendering their growing light
to seep between our fingers
as they weave their threads
like curious vines
to find their own
sun drenched hills
it is the day of sighs
time to purge cankerous pains
and wander down cathedralled paths
un-hook those cloud filled sacks
leave them swaying in the trees
teased by a quickening wind
that stirs the sweetly
brackened breath of the wood
and black cloth covered eyes
are brightened by a glittering
painterly sun
a primordial bird once told me
of his dreamtime
that helped him soar
catching rivers of wind
that weaved around the world
and he saw the salmon spawn
with journeys back to the
tickle of their pebbled streams
he mused the air with migrant geese
plumbed the depths of the whale
searched the secrets of lights
and ice in the north
and he never had to question
why he flew
