a cicada
clings to silence

a lisp
lip thinking

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

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?

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




DT shakes
the cold-turkey of

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