strangers at the window

there’s someone in my head but it’s not me’    Pink Floyd 1973


she sits and stares
palid porcelain thin
waiting to be told
when to go

looking down to the woods
where dark birds wheel
in sensuous veils
eclipsing her view

they bring no comfort
from the tumble of
perilous voices she hears
that come to her un-invited

as the strangers at the window
who stole her daughters face
pinned it to the wall
with her certainty and will

and crouched by her knee
waking a smile from the past
with a stroke of her cheek
as fleeting as her breath

heather’s song

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


are you not coming home

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 away