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
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a grave soul –
memory garlanded
with marigolds
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i.m. Carlos Colón

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