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
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
breath-wide moments
nothing but

this prosthesis
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

what the pine
had to teach

there and there
so near still
a mayfly’s was