Softness is a delicacy
Suspended in pregnant silence
The tender repose of a golden blossom
Undressed before the rising sun


In a two-storey house where the sea meets the shore
You stand presently there, just shy of the door
If not for the beating of drums
Sun in my mouth, circles danced on the floor

Mountain spring, valley emerald
Snaking crisp cold clear
Mind root nor stone, splash barefoot in the fountain
Behold two virgins leafless in the mirror

In the dewy eye of a lily blossom
Concealed miracles out of blue
Emerges dawn through silver shadows
Know then where I go; I go with you

You, most exotic fruit
Velveteen shell and petal bright
Flushed deep crimson alight thumb and finger
Sun roused nectar, sweet delight

You, enigmatic king of sky and wing
Carmine plume and song-filled breast
Sovereign erect upon my shoulder, voice of wild honey
Reveals erelong a gentle heart with ease confessed

Shrouded in verdant depths of green
Silent echo of shapes known but never seen
Tranquil pool on which light now lends her touch
Wakes a sleeping dreamer from just as much

Clarity of heart an arrow golden
Immaculate point splitting jungle dark
Resolute, blind to beast or barrier

Intuitively landing day’s bright destined mark


Only the river knows
Where it is the river goes
To the current, I abide
Enraptured in her throws

In service find surrender
For devotion ignites what’s true
Through grace the water carries
I find myself in you

There’s thunder at my feet
An ocean riding on my brow
To stoke the flame, breath is offered
Rise ablaze, a wildfire now



Last night, I am in a classroom at dark. The walls and tables are white. We are there to study the moon, and are observing the sphere through a large rectangular window. The moon is a blood moon, a shining bright orange orb in a sea of black. Every time I open and close my eyes, it appears to shift in size and location across the sky, growing progressively in magnitude with each open-and-shut. In this moment, I realise that the moon is on a flight trajectory to the earth. We will be hit. There is panic and everyone scatters, crouching under tables and chairs with hands over head. As the moon makes impact, the whole world shakes. Paper and dust.

Later, I walk the rooms of a school collecting blank sheets of paper of appropriate transparency so that we may begin to make again.

Later, a tiger in found across the street in the midst of a commotion of horses. Wild eyes.