New Year dawning
my mind reassembles
the sound of light

news of war
teens eye their figures
up and down

night falls on
night falling on
a dark sea

no more mind
just the ebb and flow
of a sea

notes towards an end

always now
before it has a name
morning light

does it live
the other I think
in the word

vital signs
the form conforms
to the word

eye to eye
what comes to pass
with a yes

no room now
light without end
fills the night

to be
what is hidden
and seen


Otata 13 - January 2017

now here in a nick in time

olive stone -
a mass surveillance branch
all but snowed in


on a narrow road
to the heart of the moment
before time began


open hand . . .
her call curls out from
the unheard

paper cranes . . .
I bend time and space
a thousand times


a snail practices
our absence

plagued by silence
a ruru mimics the sound
of the dark night

pond ripple . . .
the one I am
no more

still life . . .
all my colours
from dusk

still us –
sounds aflutter
enter the light

sultry night
my birthplace rattles
its chains

swollen night
the pre-cum of dawn
bends a leaf

"My eyes have been squinting."
"All three?"
"One after another."

gallows pole
a wind chime hangs
on each word


the darkness
of my mood
colours the toast

the reflections
of an alien species
out of my mind

the wind
winds up
a cat

ululations of immortality



up, down
a leaf adrift
or not

on manicured lawns
Sappho's ashes

windy day -
stretching the truth
across clouds


with age
the deepening pallor
of the moon

wormhole trip . . .
my shadow and I
splice genes