You brought the words with you

Cross through
into another realm
of silence.
Speak,
not knowing they have
no words and
suddenly words exist there.
You have given them words.


(a fragment of a crazy dream)

The Day The Clocks Went Back (a writing date collaboration with Mr Nash)

The Day the clocks went back,
the August sky bled grey.
Thirteen moths escaped through skin.
Chaos called. We let him in.
I saw you cry.

The roses lost their heads. The one
you gave me faded on my ribs,
the ink still wet,
the flesh still red.
I said goodbye.

The bath ran cold. My eyes ran dry.
The hermit left the house.

Wing Envy

My muse has forgotten me,
left me in limbo,
alone
with a pencil
and pain with no name.

I’m impotent,
empty.
My words have escaped me.
They flow from friends’ fingers,
so fickle,
they trickle
down cheeks ,
plop on paper,
in poem shaped stains.

I watch them in wonderment,
wishing they’d come to me.
Craving the comfort
of newly formed things.
But my muse has forgotten me.
Silent, she flies from me.
I watch from beneath her,
and envy her wings.

Submersed

She bows her head and
weeps
over wistful water.
Weeps
like a willow.
Trailing her tangled tendrils,
wet
with tears,
wet
with river.
Slippery, rippling the reflections,
of memories,
A face she’d forgotten.
A place
she once knew.

They leave her,
so sudden.
Dissolve in the depths,
are lost in the
darkness beneath.

She traces the water
with tentative fingers.
She’s searching for
something,
a glimmer, a flicker.
She leans ever closer,
her face in the water,
wet
with tears,
wet
with river.
Submersed.

Her heavy head
sinks.
She surrenders
to silence.
The sky above
darkens.
The day takes
a breath.

She swallows
her sadness and
chokes on confusion.
Slipping so quickly now,
falling so far.

Her treasures are buried here,
hidden, protected,
A face she’d forgotten.
A place
she once knew.
She lays with them,
cradles them,
gathers them to her.
Her weeping eyes
glimmer,
a flicker.
Reflected in blue.