We are difficult
puzzles by nature, wanting
to be solved – but how?
Now that fingers are swimming,
how can we unpick the sea?

Maybe we want things
without knowing what, my moon:
endlessly thoughtful
in a world of light feelings.
Sweet nighttime is running short.

Oxbow Lake

Two rivers flow
Apart from one another
And the one
Dries around to form an
Oxbow lake.

Stranded in a sea
Of rice-infested land
To stand
Time, and the lake
Is alone.

One river flows
Apart from where the other
By chance
Stranded an oxbow lake
But meets –

Does it spit
Rejecting water that tastes
Too familiar?


She breathes ever so silently
rising and falling
where fast begins and slow never ends
she breathes ever so fitfully
racing while she slumbers.

Breathe – it will make her live
where otherwise, she appears dead
and cold and buried beneath
cottony white weaving.

Ever so silent is she
who seems to be snugly fitting
who seems to see by listening.

The Fervent Lie

We are the road
Pinched tight and hanging
From the fingertips of fate.
We are the ever-churning circle.

We run the mountains;
We crush the borders,
We live, we die
And we deny

We are a road
Pinched tight and narrow
Between fingers squeezed in hate.
We are an ever-turning circle.

We will be nothing else.

From the Faucet

Hand-wash warm pulls up a memory
of sweet bubble bath, water silky
on the skin of a time before picking
at specks of dirt on the shelves before
shower water was contaminated.

Hand-wash cold, remember the smell
of clinical cleanliness, the water
is a stagnating puddle in the swamp
so maybe I will
rinse and repeat, after all.


Multi-hued tentacles
Glowing summer-coloured
In the bruise of the deep blue sea.
Only the image of emptiness
Entrances me.
How can I exist
So close to all this
But grasp at plain air
Eyes screwed unaware?
Of summer-golden colours
Glowing with the heat
With creatures multi-hued
Still I lie there
Dead and bare.