My page days turn too quickly.
Flighty meanings - reach to catch a word.
Half seen, half felt, half heard.
But might have saved for me a bright and lovely second.

Perhaps a fleeting truth is only right
For this, our running whispering,
Grave paved life.

And - yes, you're right of course
She should have stopped the cough
Before imposing it on you
So sleep was killed;
So furthering your grinding sisterhood
That you were stealthy-taught
By raising villians dead,
Whose ghosts still shade your brows.

Help me cross my poorest borders. Now
The dry white clay and sickly tufts
Of many grasses seen through dust,
As we are very soon
To know,
Are ending.

Here.  This one will do
As well as any.

Sometimes I think that the only thing
We will take with us
Or leave behind

Is poetry.

Fragments

Of what did not make sense in life

But was beautiful.

Your words flowing to the point and to
The furthest reaches of this space.
I am not in this place now but float
To possibilities we have no time no time to meet

The coffee steam entwines an elegant image,
A nuance that swirls the room to life.
And I am made calm and bright with this
Breezy logic that entrances and - truly -

Transforms.



For JM.  March 2008.

Right here, right now?  The kitchen?  On the table!?
Why not? The curtain's drawn, the dishes done...
That's not the point - we might be seen: the cats!

A smiling silence marks the code for 'Yes'!

They haven't any cats.


With shaking hands the breakfast things are cleared.
Before the final tetris slot of dish to stack
Is final launch commit: they've cleared the tower
The boosters lit,  the fuel is rushing to the fires
Already burning
Bloom in crimson waves around them both.  

- Can we agree on one thing first my Friend?

This is

The heaviest, lightest thing that you can do.  
To live these silvery liquid chains of breath
And blood.
And sky and air and

Falls calling to each other and winging to the heights...

And she says

Look at me.

At a certain time of the evening
You glance sideways.
A golden light
Caught out of the corner of the eye
And - with a little catch of breath, see  - a vision
Of purple black cloud and foreground green lit by flames of evening
All shifting moving dancing.

To savour every single last little moment:
And in that seeing with the naked eye of the dead
To find in the tiny space between action and the smell of grass
There is some Finding that may
That may...

"Build?"

One day
Into un-possible newness and
New life.