September 2016

September marks for me the time of year I was born - the beginning of spring in Aotearoa / New Zealand.






An Ancestral Silence
deep winter
without the weave of words
within shelter
still birds
offspring of silence
after words
the presence
of ancient hand prints
deepen their absence
mere hints
of mammoths and bears
left long since
the words that are the heirs
of the lives once theirs


An Ancestral Silence

darkening wind –
my mind comes to stop
at nothing
September wind –
a terror unheard of
since unspoken
the morning murmurs
"m’illumino d’immenso" –
September light
in the flutter 
of her
I score
I know not what 
with words
all around
the impression of self
where light falls
a -
dna or morse
to a t
light of spring –
this longing to become
a buttercup
spring tide
words somersault
in the wind
a grain of salt
Lot's wife looks back
to the twin cities
lost for words
fallen rimu dragged
through the mill
as it is called
out of step

all about spring release

setting sun
my vowels lengthen
with my words
coffin thuds –
the sound of forgetting
dead calm
before the beginning
and after . . .
night of nights
a smoldering wick
voices the prayer
unbidden bird
the name for it 
births itself