Soft pale gold sunrise
Falls in spindles across seas
That are filtering
Silent through my closed fingers
Casting droplets on the grass.

Skyward, grey wisps brew
Rolling waves of white thunder
You don’t see the rain
Looming there with frigid stare
And anxious crows departing.


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?


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.

The Winged Ant

All the wide world is like this ant
I saw drowning in the sink
when I pulled it out and coaxed it
up the steep ceramic wall.
It never moved of its own will.

It slipped and fell when I let go;
its wings were too wet too heavy.

And though I did not want to let it die,
it did.