Light funnels through trees;
seaweed green, mermaid’s tails
underground caverns.

Branches crack, a startled doe
flickers by: I’m wood water wet
stinging rain in my face

hoof beats glance off flint
slow canter then a sprint
to the corner of the hill.

Way below all of England’s green
laid out in pocket symmetry
red poppies dissect hills;

chalk snatched hand grafted
above sleeping cottages
where song of nightingale

waits to taunt me.

5am shuffle silence floods the street
dream pathways lead to sand strewn beaches.
a blindfold woman ruffles perception,
west wind bickers sand grits teeth,

only notice that it’s me, searching for me.

You talk in riddles dangle Tarot from fingers
disappear in puffs of pretty pixels
I’m unimpeachable with disinterest,
this time I’m fledgling free.

I’m 5am woman wandering staccato landscapes
unable to find the question
still unreasonably searching
a filter for the final essence of me.

There was nothing wrong with the day;
summer rolled on from warm to wet
a serendipity of flavours,
but I was stuck in monochrome.

I’d nothing left to say,
the weight of it betrayed the light,
left me pulverised by time:
here I am in the middle way underwhelmed,
not sure which way to turn, yet every way is “me”.

I’m stuck fast in the slow swell of choice
like a rat caught in a wheel “entre deux vies”
and love seems so far away, as far away as you
running in the opposite direction.

Light through leaves
like dappled horses
like starlight
like heaven.

Dawn brings new offerings
apple blossom morphed to tiny apples
acid green and the plum tree drops
hard pebbles of future jam.

All is congruous melodious motion
but we like insane bees
colonise corners of nature
believe the myth that we belong.

It’s raining again
not summer rain but that
heavy downpour that slug’s love.

It seeps through my skin
waterlogs my heart with
images of you.

How we might still be
walking through a summer field
kissing under cedar tree.

It’s raining again
with the raw bravado
of a summer storm

lightning lighting up my skin
setting pulse aflame
with the sizzle

of possible incineration.

Wind whips to west
trees twist to green sound
leaves tussle to escape:
sure swish wakes me.

The day intrudes,
moon still white wisp of the night
wisteria splats the pavement like
spilt blood, Christ purple..

But I am round eyed
mesmerised by swirl of green sea
incoming wave of each tree,
and the west wind calling.

Blood sugar kisses earth body mentor
tremor to the lips heart open like a new morning:
body whispers of home coming.

Hidden under dark sweat hard trickle
a moment of becoming truly human
night obscuring thick muttered longing.

Earth coated sugar kisses
breath rasps in animal striving
wanting only to melt; melt into one other.

Centrifuge
blood liquid
still point
where there is no turning away.

Morning arcs
bright flickers
tree fingers
shadow of a nuptial moon fading.

You are last years leaves
and tomorrow’s blossom
the place where tongue still lingers
curves around a full mouth
blurs the edges of feeling with sensation.

You are the mountain’s spring
falling troubled into genuflecting river
searching for a space to soothe
the churning of unanswered metaphor
with warmth.

You’re the shadow behind every door I open
a shaft of sunlight striking dust from musted hands:
we are the light inside the silver sided mirror
our faces merge in contemplation
we touch our netted palms to one reflection,
then turn aside and walk these jaded streets alone.

I sleep
over there you wake
walk city streets.

We wait:
an inconclusive future
caught on the claws of fate

time swings by.

You’re the blue pen
I’m the red
its only words

that intercept the space
between us.

You sleep I wake,
across iron sky’s
stormy sea’s

where the dead shake
their fish filled heads
to tell us

we’ve only one chance
at this .

Pinpoint of light harvests morning:
sweat on your lip, eyes grey as sea squalls
leaning into tomorrow with last night’s rain

clinging in humid air.

I dream of palm trees, wild beaches
that turn into this urban coat:

ascension of light.

You dream of a lost love dressed
in white roses, singing her siren song.

I’ve listened to this song, you’ve fed
me wise sayings, we wipe the debris.

We talk of cottages and seascapes
punctuate intentions, history crumbles
into morning pockets where rain falls like spittle;

you ride crested waves of a coast, unknown.