On Richard Gilbert's 61st birthday
 
 
baby boomers rattle their sixties
 
chanting 'amandla!'
baby boomers ski 
the downhill slope
 
sexagenarians shooting blanks
 
moonstruck
I become
its alibi
 
time-tide
no turning back 
on itself
 
Is this the way the world ends?
Is this the way the world ends?
Is this the way the world ends?
Not with a bang but with a boomer.
Glaucoma

 
glaucoma—
a seer at odds
with vision
 
light
strains the edges
of itself
 
astride dreams
horizons gather
to the flame
 
under the weather
my eyes acclimatise
to their ends
 
climate change
I feel the earth
for a pulse
 
optic pressure—
vision swells up
in words
 
measured—
the range of vision
and words
 
all dark!
between stars
my light

deep dreaming a plum tree blooms

a breath of light
wind ripples
the waters
see the light
in the undergrowth
where we dream