Otata 13

  • a sequence for my daughter

    jigsaw child
    fitting words
    fall together

    only this
    the flicker of blood
    barely glimpsed

    singled out
    by silence
    our mutable feast

    in the world
    if only of it
    daughter buffalo

    what has no voice
    daughter of mine

  • advent silence
    speaking our language

  • after rain too
    the sea has no colour
    of its own

  • am I to be the words no more

  • awake again . . .
    has dawn recreated
    the am I was?

  • dead silence . . .
    an ancestral wisdom
    in so few words

  • grave silence –
    a distant fantail
    barely heard

  • heaven-sent . . .
    vernix enfolds the word
    whispered in doubt

  • 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

  • night falls on
    night falling on
    a dark sea

  • notes towards an end

    always now
    before it has a name
    morning light

    does it live
    the other I think
    in the word

    vital signs
    the form conforms
    to the word

    eye to eye
    what comes to pass
    with a yes

    no room now
    light without end
    fills the night

    to be
    what is hidden
    and seen


    Otata 13 - January 2017

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

  • pond ripple . . .
    the one I am
    no more

  • still life . . .
    all my colours
    from dusk

  • still us –
    sounds aflutter
    enter the light

  • up, down
    a leaf adrift
    or not