HARE’S BREADTH

where shall we put this
gift, which fate has wrapped
in new leaves
and sealed
with the dark startle
of the hare’s gaze?  where 

shall we fit it?  where keep
it safe?  between
great stones fitted knife-blade close,
under some restless
mountain, or in a mirror 
where no one has yet looked?  

do not try to fit it anywhere:
there is nowhere it belongs.
we must fit ourselves, instead,
into whatever space it leaves unfilled 

(though there is nowhere it has left unfilled)

THE HOUR BLUE

this is the moment
- there's one each day -
when dusk is deepening,

silence in the trees
(the birds have folded themselves small)
the wine is poured:

i want to raise my glass, 
smile at someone;
talk.  

it's nothing much.
it's everything.

THE ASHES SPEAK

all that is left of me is you:
do me credit.
achievements; dreams - grasped,
then lost: don't edit.

i was unkind: include that -
but marvellous too, don't forget.
i hid myself in words, so you couldn't find me;
all the same, we met.

cup my cold ashes in your hands,
then let them go.  as they billow past,
brush me off your coat onto the sand:
i was never meant to last.

all that is left of me is you:
so take me toward
somewhere i never really knew:
the best way forward.

MAGNOLIA STELLATA

this tree on its single leg

curtseying

to the glance of wings

as a bird flies through

its petals

caught up by the wind, fall back:

in the shape of a sword

ICARUS DOWNFALLEN

man goes flying

ground waits

man opens red heart goes flying

ground waits

man holds out heart-bird

ground swoops pecks it up

man rises light of heart free of heart

ground waits frowns

man rises rises

sun waits

ground waits sun waits

sea waits

man falls: sea wins

POEM FRAGMENT: TORN PAGE

a draft of an old poem of mine - probably from around 1995 - discovered on the back of a scribbled recipe.