Coupled

I was excited
Yet also disappointed
I knew that she loved him
Adored him
Besotted with him

I wasn’t so sure though
Of his feelings
He seemed detached
Reticent almost
And then he paid the bill

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Insistent

Always with a question
Always
With the same question

Yet never asked
No, never proffered
Hidden so deep

Hidden away
With that great security
Of insecurity

Always with contemplation
Always
With that same meditation

So often fallen
Into
So often fallen out of

Dwell so deep
Dwell with that great time
Of no time at all

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House Work

Dust, and sand
Dust behind the doorstop
Donkey stone to clean the steps
To wash the weary thoughts away

I heard the rustle of wind
Through the grasses in the garden
I heard the heartbeat
Of my quietening, barely beating heart

Sand, and dust
Sand in the bare-toed crevices
Wring washing through the rollers
To drain the doubtless doubts away

I heard the chimes
Hanging by the doorpost
I heard the breath
Through my lively, pulsating heart

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Herself, Also

Beyond the prospect of all reason
Out-with the confines of one mind
I reach for the reaching season
Give the visions time to redefine

There is a break that isn’t broken
A continuum of the weavers line
With words that remain unspoken
As if this journey is so free of sign

Without the scope of trap, or treason
Before the stateliness of humankind
Weep for the last, of past preseason
Retain the tears, preserved in brine

There is a tool that is no token
As insidious as the words it finds
Out of our windmills thus awoken
As if the turning, was so still in time

Further than the last horizon
Nearer than the heart so kind
I smile at the frieze to lean-on
Offer gifts, so infinite, and sublime

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Journeyman

I am not here to write
But write I will

My practice began with a letter
About butterflies, set against
A backdrop of bright green leaves
About craftsmen, set against
A wall of Cotswold Stone

There is a second letter
A more difficult proposal
Using my vast reserves
Of conscious procrastination

This letter may also
Be concerned with butterflies
Yet set against I know not what
Perhaps it may be
About a jobbing builder

Set against a background
Of far trickier times

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