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

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