At the boathouse
By the water
In the sunshine
And the rain
With temptation
There to tempt me
Also shepherds pie
For the dinner
Meditation
Can you hear me
On the ripples
Of the four winds
There again
We see the island
Also Brideshead Chapel
And the room of renunciation
Weathered wood
Of how many reasons
For the swimming
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There is a quarry nearby
We’ve seen the wagons
Going to and fro
When I was a young man
An apprentice electrical engineer
I used to repair the jib controls
On a Ruston Bucyrus 5W
A walking crane
With a 20 tonne bucket
The drum contacts had to be cleaned
With fine, then finer, emery cloth
Before being set to work
Some days, with the jib
Out over the cut
I would have to change the light bulbs
Which meant hanging
Over the nothingness
Of impending vertigo
With only the world’s clear air
Down to the broken rocks
Fifty metres below
This helped ingrain within me
A fear of heights
Which I cannot now step over
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One thousand buddhas
Before I reach
My buddha self
One thousand consciousnesses
On my way
To the universal consciousness
One thousand blue skies
Up above
My blue sky mind
One thousand trees
In the woods
Of my walking
One thousand kisses
On the lips
Of my lover
One thousand bishops
To our cabin
At Bishop Wilton
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That newly permed hair
Dry on a dry afternoon
That newly permed hair
Nothing ventured happens too soon
Old brick wall
With broken exposure
Supports a tree
Where cement ought to be
That newly permed hair
Dry on a dry afternoon
That newly permed hair
Nothing lost by speaking to the moon
Old thoughts flow
With fractured disconnections
Nowhere thus to grow
V neck
Deep cut
Home for the season
Where weary travellers
With friends last seen at sea
Dwell as the breeze blows
This is the catwalk
A house of fashion
Where leopard skin shorts
Ride up high on thighs
As the conversation
Kicks on a pace
Waiting
Without a time
Or a presence
Yet what is
Is what has to be