swan-songMy writing output is much reduced this month as we moved home from Upper Hutt to the Kapiti Coast taking with us not only our possessions but also the accumulated treasures of our children.


 

 

 

 


the singing
is hers as the wind
moves the stars
on the move
a spring wind ruffling
dead sea scrolls
beginning
the Word with and was
God in the
the details
of cloven hooves the 
devil is in
from without
mute constellations
wheeling within
spring begins –
how can the earth contain
its surprise?
spring rains
death never looked
so good
hard times . . .
down to their last
trumppence

light bent into shape

I too
practice being
useless
signs of change
the stain of food
as it enters
and as it leaves
in shadows
shed by first light
my waking