of a day much like the many,

but nonetheless that takes the breath –

green shade bounds the blue

and the ready call of the wren is fitting here, with this:

a moment tender pressed

for what has passed …

From where to descend

down the worn and roughed step

and across a path that leads to rest.

.

Until it falls

and now frozen, caught

by a moment’s thought from whence to stare

at the dare waiting …

that you are forced to wear.

Where need wins out, reaching low

forcing you back here, with a glance –

of such weight,

in which to pause,

red-faced.

And forever to race

at me …

.

rattling steel moves the many,

where amidst tongues wagging and shifting

comes the colours –

full and charged in the waning sun

moving on and me.

.

To where, I’ll never know,

the colour of the shell like snow,

but not biting, instead burning

at something deep, forcing back

the weighted din of the madding stack

that tapers …

.

To blood orange, fall the waves

that frame the snowy shores for me.

Wherein moored pools of evergreen,

to catch my straying, passing eye

from gaze afar,

bathe my mind so sweetly.

.

Thin cherry waits not far below,

pursed ripe and tight against the air,

and suggestive of a sharpened tongue,

used for play and dare –

where I should dance and find

a boy more loud.

.

But, alas, the bell invades

drawing forth the homebound wave,

and your blackened weave with ready feet

withdraws with a glimpse fading –

at least from the iris,

everlasting the hue.

.

…

piercing with ivory white to bare

the laced milk of beginnings –

sapling blood flowing,

immersing the all of me

with a ripeness.

.

…

cold and calculated on the surface,

measuring the way to what is known.

Striking out along the bitumen, at a part of me,

little markers of memory

meant to guide, divide

those moving in opposite directions.

.

It’s beautiful there

back where the green holds sway, at least for now;

though I hope it always will be so.

But there is a painful whisper in retracing,

the familiar now divided

between the ‘I’ and the ‘us’ …

A stop sign waiting.

.

Certain turns turn against me –

a patch of grass, for a minute ours

now, unwanted, devours.

Not only with black, there is certainly light

that I would hold onto,

but I was always more for night.

Which we both knew …

.

…

yellow star burning fierce, flooding with a fiery depth

Consuming of the dark, of others

with a fulsome light

to behold wondrous, terrible

gifted in flight

.

Light giver to orbiting souls

augmenting

searing those drifting, reaching out to immerse

ignorant to their peril

scorched and lasting marked

with verity, something hard

.

Radiant, promising

and by a power, effect uncertain

The searing paradox of you

of want, of distance

that will bathe in a frenzied instant

and retreat unto the night

.

Ever will you flame

alight untamed

the sands registering little

Until a day when history beckons

when something missing invades, threatens

and then, bright star, feel this …

.

…

redolent of a then fevered heart,

the racing pulse of when

.

reaching out to the air,

invisible plays across the fingertips

with the subtle fire of your telling curve

.

where raindrops kiss, and falling

through drowsy depths to a languid hour –

each strike of wetted lips

.

shifting leaf, whispering,

calling forth the shared rhythm,

the carnal quiver of quickened breath

.

brimming with fervour,

the dampened bed shadows

the zeal-drenched sheets of singing night

.

returned through earthy scent

laced and imbued with the essence

of rise and fall upon the crest

.

where waits a primrose flower

unfolded to the warm spill of sun –

a shaft of giving light

.

…

unnumbered tears flow –

tumbling from a source unseen,

a mirror held to ruddy eyes,

the falls cold piercing clean.

.

Deep, swift and green-blue waters lace –

pranced and pure the lapping mile,

upon the valley a ribbon smile.

Sand gathers there now the more

to hold the deep at bay

forever more.

.

Sun ripens green and alights the river wild –

lily-white flower scores the way,

the petalled tears of passing day.

And sweetly played from pinnacle to pine,

the vestal wind

proves a giving clime.

.

Though broken glacier gathers, humbled at the bearing feet –

pieced together as an erstwhile lover.

Release it from the crown-ed peak

to break the heavens,

to rent asunder.

.

…

and drowning blue of barren sky,

the easy shift of leaf on breeze, whispering …

find rising blood:

a charge released through vein, seeping into bone;

the breath pinned,

and release a giving sigh.

.

Where a lightness comes

to rest amongst the hemispheres

and fill the self with texture –

a hand running across the weathered surface,

feeling each grain, reading every score

finds tangible the suggestion,

that this should not be questioned.

.

But drawn with breath –

neurons mad-dashing,

electrified and pregnant with spirit, with a fire

that burns at effigies,

and amidst the embers rests

a defining heat.

.

Spoken in images,

sounds, scent and touch:

the rain drop sliding slowly from a supple leaf;

the tears of a widow wept to dark.

And in each fragment can it be found,

the essence of this …

this nothing.

.

…

undulating like a fabric sea

of waves that strike heavy

on that part of the mind that imagines –

gives form to want, to a fire.

.

Alight across the way,

blue discs of a colour fierce

and shape embracing, engulfing –

brimming waters deep,

pregnant rivers that elucidate …

.

In sweeping moves graceful

that close the space between –

a gentle arch curves to a nervous touch,

the hollow of which is elaborate and smooth:

echoing the complexities of this …

.

This rhythm infused

with a shared energy –

a desired state –

which evocates the interweaving hour,

the dawn of something shared:

a budding flower.

…

4.43

or thereabouts I would guess …

Our eyes met.

…