September 2016

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

 

 

 

 

 


in the beginning
a lack of words
for nothing
as you read
an old silence becomes
audible once more
filling in the gaps
left after words
haiku
theory of everything
the grand design
even here
a cheshire cat
of words
this endless hunt for meanings,
finally a kind of curious greed
and still
leaden words sink me 
ever deeper
in-between
breath-wide moments
nothing but

this prosthesis
re-membered
word by word

leaves break down a death sentence
 
 
 
wind whorls fingerprint man-dust
 
 

 

when you were
when meaning was worded
with relics
 
a grief ago almost borne
 

in winter wind
all that’s left of me
escapes me

finger-felt
what the pine
had to teach

there and there
so near still
a mayfly’s was