Kapiti CoastWe start to sink our roots down in to the area we now call home even as the earth goes through its own upheavals as if to uproot us and wash us away. The photograph is from on the Kapiti Coast.

 

 

 

 

 


morning clouds
all the saints a-spring
with the sun
a grave soul –
memory garlanded
with marigolds
i.m. Carlos Colón

empty nest . . .
one day I too will leave
my absence here
web-walking
a spider and I
get up to speed
the call to
a celibate life
morning election
days of rain
the finality
of dreams
all at sea
aground still under
my feet
never before
the breath that leaves me
since it sprung
nature nature . . .
earth quakes open
to the rain
about face
the supermoontide
crosses the line
where is it?
my eight hundred and sixth 
moon to heaven
in the aftermath
I watch feijoas
becoming
supermoon . . .
an ancient sadness
behind the rain
before me 
the who's who 
of non-being
wolf hour . . .
my coffin of air
on waking
according
to the sea's blueprint
life in death
whisper-wind
my love's breath rhythm
stilling storms
Pound's platform . . .
what an overlap
of petals!
secret room
in it I make out
God's silence
starless seas
the shape of darkness
sharper in my mind
dam its song
the bird beyond its name
in this longing
word traffic
at a standstill
in silence
deep shadow
meaning sinks into
book's gutters
a sublime vacancy 
sinks in 
inanities
becoming great
annihilination crests
in the west
God in this is –
a breath seeking out 
line breaks
the dark night
eases through
the end of days
empty room –
I enter the sound
of my echo
word fool
the resonances
of silence