March 2015

no words to take
the place
river of stars
rippling behind the veil
of summer days
singles bar
loneliness measured
via sxting
pre-dawn city
pigeons pick through
last night
with dawn
I am become
the silence
made holy by water
and its sound
the colour
of clear water
in its song
autumn dusk—
the tinges of death
now sacred
with dawn
the sound of water
in Latin 
trickling stream . . .
corporate oligarchs
foul the trough
point to point
latinating lines
of travel
the moon
almost all of it
and yet . . .
on the steppes
of a banned rotundra
sparseness of sound
startling night—
mercury fullmoonate
amid the stars
a rainbow
slain in its coming
street walkers
hawking the dark side
of the moon
autumn dusk
watching my shadow move
beyond me
a bird settles
into the quietness
it darkens
with each day
a slow darkening
of sparrows
at a loss
as to . . .
passing girl
Passion Week—
psalm responses
from the void
just loss
beyond the scope 
of words
diving into
the past's extinction—
mirror moon
last light—
the candle-wax
of words
listening to itself
through me
leafy pond—
the kaleidoscope
of what was
moon-mist . . .
a mirror framing
morning fog— 
the deepening metaphor
of my breath
labouring under 
an illusion of clarity— 
cloud-curdled shadows
spider steps
across her navel
clouds and whey
loose-leaf wind— 
I am become
my autumn
loose-leaf wind— 
I am become
my autumn
heavy with 
night's aftermath
dew-lit leaf
autumn wind . . .
a nocturne rising from
gutter pipes
wind refrain . . .
hollowness gives
wood its voice
half moon . . .
only one month
since the last
clear sky—
my eyes ascribe
a colour
autumn light—
the empty spaces
we live in
a wind sound
through unleavened trees
passes over