https://otatablog.files.wordpress.com/2016/12/otata-13-january-20173.pdf
a sequence for my daughter
jigsaw childfitting wordsfall together
only thisthe flicker of bloodbarely glimpsed
singled outby silenceour mutable feast
in the worldif only of itdaughter buffalo
echoingwhat has no voicedaughter of mine
advent silencespeaking our language
after rain toothe sea has no colourof its own
am I to be the words no more
awake again . . .has dawn recreatedthe am I was?
dead silence . . .an ancestral wisdom in so few words
grave silence –a distant fantailbarely heard
heaven-sent . . .vernix enfolds the wordwhispered in doubt
midnight hunt . . .every pulse pledgedto the prey
midsummer nightthe moon hangs aboutlike a suicide
moonlit seabound to me in this ditchof ownership
my heartbeaton mesolithic timeonce more
night falls on night falling on a dark sea
notes towards an end
always nowbefore it has a namemorning light
does it livethe other I thinkin the word
vital signsthe form conformsto the word
eye to eyewhat comes to passwith a yes
no room nowlight without endfills the night
to bewhat is hiddenand seen
Otata 13 - January 2017
open hand . . .her call curls out fromthe unheard
pond ripple . . .the one I amno more
still life . . .all my coloursfrom dusk
still us –sounds aflutterenter the light
up, downa leaf adriftor not