a cicada
clings to silence
ripening

a lisp
lip thinking
whithpers

a sea breeze
encrypts messages
from the edge

a sequence for my daughter

jigsaw child
fitting words
fall together


only this
the flicker of blood
barely glimpsed


singled out
by silence
our mutable feast


in the world
if only of it
daughter buffalo


echoing
what has no voice
daughter of mine

advent silence
speaking our language

after rain too
the sea has no colour
of its own

alive - dead
astride a whiplash
of silence

am I to be the words no more

an imprint
of Hiroshima
shadows me

as it falls
the intonation
of the night

awake again . . .
has dawn recreated
the am I was?

beach-combing
a child washes away
from her death

before me
a future who's who
of non-being

dead - alive
astride a whiplash
of silence

dead silence . . .
an ancestral wisdom
in so few words

distemperarmament

 

 

DT shakes
the cold-turkey of
twitter-feeds

ever present –
is this too to be
our pretense?

eye contact . . .
particles appear smaller
than their wavelengths

eye to eye
the bottom line
still there