Do I wish to be here anyway

Already today

You have been all around the world

Only to land

Right back here again and writing

Postcards from the Seychelles

Poets and tattooists from New Zealand

Already today you've been

All over the world

Spaces, retreats from places

Empty faces

Traces of characters

To mull and muse upon

This land, your own armchair

Your own clutch pencil

Already today; balloons and garden mowers

In your garden, in your home

Ownership, even of your own thoughts

Are free then of freehold

All around the world

Sat under the tree

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The widest corridors in the world

Both hands

On each others

Bare shoulders

Warm skin

Words

To make me cry

I tell you of my poem

My dream

All possible connections

Whatever

That they mean

Happy times

Hopeful times

Softness

Stipple scented sweet surrender

Eyes that smile

Reflect

The smiled on eyes

We land

A good way before December

Our carrier bags

Outside

In the stillness 

The calmness of the night

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Unsettled by awakenings

All the other stuff

Noise

Easily led and distracted

Unable to hear

The dismantled ticking of the clock

Or the regurgitations

Of your own intestinal canal

Then to make the moments longer

To hear the wood-saw in the distance

We bathe our toes

In rivers

And far away sub-tropical sands

As if the hour glass is the mirror

Of all that passes through our fingers

The dollars and the rand

The pebbles, the salted still sea water

Grand hotels and dingy basements

Cafes on the Sorbonne and the Strand

This is past stuff

Names with evocation which I land

Perhaps, yes, maybe it is only the pretentious

Which I really, yes, that I truly understand

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Underneath the covers

On the edge of sleep

On the cusp of miscalculation

Warmest of places

Feelings of lasting contentment

Past loves

With new blood stirring

Close your eyes

Unbutton just a trouser

Drift away

Into some lust just full of oblivion

Some other spacious ecstasy

Tiredness; quietly there she takes you

Gives you a frizzle

Strands your hair

Upstanding, her hands

Are soft and warm

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Where did you say you put it

To be numb

Without movement

Caught awhile

Absent in your own mind

Unsung

Slowly moving

Dancing

Somewhere back in time

Spaces

Voids unopened

Fumbling

For another line

Piece together

A fresh

And first collection

Surely still, yet still sublime

Run

Right back into my arms

A cradled enclave

If to be so brave

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