Shut my eyes on Sunday evening. 

Moments pass, the clock is screaming.

Flip my switch from dream to drowning 

in a sea of morning light.

Scoop the mucus from my lashes.

Splash my cheeks and scrub my gnashers.

Quell the bloating crush of pressure.

I’m already late!

Complacent men and placid women -

TV Breakfast hosts - sit grinning

at the fan-like big hand sp...

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Yesterday

I opened the windows of my room with the night

I let in the stars and slept in their time

    I knew their waning

When I awoke

My pillow was flattened with the weight of their time

My mind was present in the immensity of their span

    I knew their past now

Today

I curtained the new day in my room with the dawn

I breathed in time and dreamed of the...

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As I write, each line reaches for memories

lost, fallen beyond the edge of the world:

kamarupa dwelling in infinity, fading

when my lines do not find them

and my words fail passion and desire.

Eons, lost pasts. Which of them

could dream my frail dream of this

verse? Which, thrown

across the fabric of time, could make

nothing everything?

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Written in March 2023: one year on.

(...sees races, eras, dates, generations,

The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together"

Walt Whitman, Kosmos)

Only fragile glass

                                   holds the cold

                                                                night's times at bay:

each star above the beech

owning its mo...

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there once was a boy

good-hearted and innocent

worried not about the 

flecks of mud

clinging to his toes

thinking not on the

stinging scrapes

kissing his knees

worried not

save for the dwindling daylight

that brings an end

if only temporary

to his fun

there was once a man

chased by the sun

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