The indentation of her body
against the invisible horses made
visible only by an impossible rain
inclined or reposed a natural tilt.
The familiar weight
the cleft between us
her chestnut hair
the delineation of ebb and flow
declarative manoeuvres
her hands on my wrists
a fine balance on the periphery
the sound within the sound
its unerring volume impenetrable
within the silken auburn tangle.
On the hill the wind comes down past the river bank, crashes into stem and fern and leaf, scatters thought and cools the earth. We are monsters and ghosts. We were children here once. We are children here still, waiting for mother’s voice carried within and without the rustling leaves. They fall listless underneath the green footed acre, where a solitary poplar bravely embraces the naked winter, points to nondescript summers, sighing under the weight of histories forgotten.
the razor’s edge cuts into
late day wanderings
holds the dusk at bay
we stand silhouetted
against an industrial sky
cross at the lights
move like Victorian stills
into timelessness
your hair bleeds into my face
as a sliver of pain breaks
my consciousness
in the middle of the street
cars blur into colors
as you hold my finger
to your beautiful mouth
and suck it dry.
upside down / floating formlessness
the distance to that other shore
an endless swim across a rain filled sky
fish for birds / eat them raw
the moon made invisible / lurks hopeful
for mouthfuls / this is how the dinosaurs died.
when i look hard enough
i find you there
beneath the mess i’ve made
under books and needles
discarded clocks / timepieces
that no longer keep / time
unraveled between
uncrossed fingers.
you kept moving under the weight
of my burden / body
broken / consumed by earth
and weeping willow
scatter wounded / the hearts
of lesser thieves / raging
torrents / the glass eaters.
