February 2015

bread and wine— 
nectarine flesh stained
with plum juice
parched lawn—
I quicken to the scent
of fresh rain
altar light . . . 
the fire the cold say
just isn't
hen party
a maid cocks a snook
at the bride
last light . . .
I cast aside words
to enter it
a migrant magpie
lost in space
resting its case
a kangaroo court leaps
into recess
wailing wind . . .
the birth-blood of night
drowns my voice
dark energy
the gravity
her mind 
by moonlight
deep scanning still waters
of almost