at night the grass rages in the park
across the river, the hill is silent
and trees broadcast earth to sky
repeating, “Life, life, life.”
When I was a kid, my bedroom window looked out onto a roof at the back of our house. One day I was helping my Dad as he was re-decorating my room. I felt sad for no reason, something that happened to me a lot then. I said “Dad, I don’t want you to die” I fought back tears, surprised and embarrassed at my own honesty. “Where will you go?”
He smiled. He took a bucket of wallpaper scraps he had peeled from the walls. “What happens if I burn these?”
“They turn to ash’, I said.
“True. And if I throw the ash out onto the roof?”
“It gets washed away”, I said, gazing at the thin rain falling outside.
“Where to?”, he asked.
“To the streams and rivers and down to the sea,” I said.
He was still smiling. I turned away and through my tears I watched the rain fall, slow and steady down the window pane, and away.
the flowers I brought for love
were simples for its cure.
I am not afraid of heights. I’m not even really afraid of falling. Its hitting the ground that troubles me.
whatever dr amphor had given me, made my thoughts blaze like fireworks against the blackness of my mind. I moved slowly, like a reluctant waiter, underwater. a traffic light shone on the wet, black road, blinking […]
the wind stole my breath
and wordless I was bereaved
of all my secrets.
he was stylish in a loud, obvious way. his clothes made a statement. the kind of statement made under duress, at 3.00am, in a hot police cell.
I turned from the window, where I had been gazing out at the meadows where we used to walk and the distant oak trees where we had tried many times to shelter from the rain. The sadness in my heart turned to a jolt […]
a child on the beach
I held a bucket
in this small water
all the gravity and mass
of an ocean
returning to itself
The sign on the wall was fly-blown and crooked. It said “DETENTION”. The room was hot as a border-town and airless as a morgue. In the corner, a thin man was kneeling and being sick into a plastic bucket, his […]
were I the architect of my desires,
were i to know the science of the heart
or understand what alchemy
of memory had burnished your name
to gold before my grieving eyes,
could I yet call you mine
without a […]
the modem fizzed and popped like a battery shorting out in a glass of champagne. he had not checked his email since before being sent to pentonville. she hadn’t written, but had she tried to email?
we stood by the railroad tracks. the dust he had kicked from his boots rising in a red plume in the late afternoon sun. we both knew we would not see each other again. I thanked him. As we shook hands I thought I […]
the feel of a kite string in my hand
the thrumming of the line
the insistent signal from sky to earth
to harness the power of the wind