January 2017

New Year dawning
my mind reassembles
the sound of light
dead - alive
astride a whiplash
of silence

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

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

midsummer night
the moon hangs about
like a suicide

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

my heartbeat
on mesolithic time
once more

advent silence
speaking our language

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

am I to be the words no more

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

still us –
sounds aflutter
enter the light

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

still life . . .
all my colours
from dusk

night falls on
night falling on
a dark sea

grave silence –
a distant fantail
barely heard

midnight hunt . . .
every pulse pledged
to the prey

up, down
a leaf adrift
or not

after rain too
the sea has no colour
of its own

moonlit sea
bound to me in this ditch
of ownership