January 2017

less of more
the stream entered
more than once

midnight hunt . . .
every pulse pledged
to the prey

midsummer night
the moon hangs about
like a suicide

moonlit sea
bound to me in this ditch
of ownership

my heartbeat
on mesolithic time
once more

my shadow
in the shadow
of no-self

n! = (by
olfactorial equations)
the rose known

new notebook
an abyss yawns open
to my voice

New Year dawning
my mind reassembles
the sound of light

news of war
teens eye their figures
up and down

night falls on
night falling on
a dark sea

no more mind
just the ebb and flow
of a sea

not yet dead
a novelist adjusts
his dustjacket

now here in a nick in time

olive stone -
a mass surveillance branch
all but snowed in

on a narrow road
to the heart of the moment
before time began

open hand . . .
her call curls out from
the unheard

paper cranes . . .
I bend time and space
a thousand times

a snail practices
our absence

plagued by silence
a ruru mimics the sound
of the dark night

pond ripple . . .
the one I am
no more

receding tide . . .
my negative capability
left high and dry

still life . . .
all my colours
from dusk

still us –
sounds aflutter
enter the light

sultry night
my birthplace rattles
its chains

swollen night
the pre-cum of dawn
bends a leaf

the darkness
of my mood
colours the toast

the reflections
of an alien species
out of my mind

the wind
winds up
a cat

ululations of immortality