in the sauna
becoming
a hot air balloon

chewy caramel waffles
one
two

a deep-Mediterranean-sky-blue length of hose-pipe, waiting to take water to the flowers

Buddhist service

just three voices tonight, circling the room as the light slowly fades

everything sunsoaked

a pair of fuchsia socks pinned on next door's washing line sing 'tulips'

she can't place me. I've met her many times. I tell her again. needing to be 'placed' by her, not liking being nobody.

at the end of the morning we sit by the river & talk about what's most important

the sky goes on and on without a flaw

a black & white spider, delicately painted, crawls across the blacks & whites of the page

whoop! whoop! whoop! a black bird high above flaps his wings & sends down these gifts

home: not a place. somewhere we've been all along. something we return to.

a few days with the whole family

raw spots are rubbing against other raw spots. we try to stop each other from hurting. we try to stop ourselves from hurting. we go round in circles.

at shanklin botanical gardens

at the top of the cliffs. the sea goes on forever. the sun shows us the shortest path towards the horizon. in the dimples of a large rock, light & water create shattered pieces of star. we lie on our stomachs and drink it all in.

an upstairs lounge on the car ferry. both of us reading our kindles. a dog yelps and mithers, distressed. a teenage girl tries to see the dog, but she can't, and neither can I. we go back to our reading.

Tsuki getting strokes

Tsuki arches her back with joy, her body can hardly contain her purrs. She collapses onto her back. Roshi pats at her tail, her mood switches, they pitterpatter downstairs to play.

spiderweb sags on the washing line
dragged down the the weight of dew

all day I snap at Kaspa, making him what I don't want to be

a glossy broken off rose-bud impersonates a snail

sipping chicory & trying to come down to earth...

two gulls on the roof, like plastic replicas

at the sandwich bar

he speaks heavily accented English and we struggle to communicate. this sandwich. no, this one. no, toasted. no, this one as well. no, take-away.

alone in the Chapel, I walk & chant quietly, ready to stop if anyone comes in. feeling guilty, for bringing the wrong God into the room.

crunchy fragments of butterscotch run through the creamy chocolate like sweet stars

a whole day swimming in words

hunting

the young cat brings in a ginormous leaf & places it at my feet

corrugated roof on the shed: dark green & ordinary, curves perfectly pencil-shaded in the morning light

half an hour after we arrive, they turn the too-loud television down

St. James Park: at first glance flat worn grass & uniform trees. A flash of squirrel tail, a clump of snowdrops, that girl's bright red coat, even in disappointment there are clumps of beauty.

interrupted by a blackbird

in the middle of washing grime from the oven with bright yellow liquid I hear a warbling blackbird. he sings to me: "don't forget to write your small stone today, don't forget to look at the sky where scribbled plane-trails criss-cross the blue, don't forget to notice the skeletal rose-bush has sprouted plump spherical buds full of promise. don't forget."