Swans in the air this morning
over the ridge,
brought to mind the myth
of the old man of the forest
who scanned the skies for cranes
and wild geese,
translated the language of the trees
and mountains into symphonies
that set the mind on fire
when I was young enough
to believe that
a swan could be a mystical being,
or a man could be reborn.

Oh, for such belief now.
Swans in the air this morning,

And music to transform the day.



we should drive off to the coast now
you and I
wander to the shore
we don’t go there anymore

the beach was just a place
we took the children to
if we went there on our own
what on earth would we both do
but walk the dog
and wonder where they are

the pattern of the seasons
is all we know
we arrive – we bloom – we fade – we go

all of us depart
none of us survive
we should drive off to the coast now
you and I

[first posted 14 November 2014]


in the little red church in the desert
a thin brown lizard stops dead upon a wall
waiting for something

soon he will be gone
unnoticed by the bent old man
in a yellow blanket
who has been there all night
waiting for nothing

View from behind a Curtain

That vulture on the street light
turned out to be a pigeon,
shifting from foot to foot
like some frozen pensioner at the bus stop
as a goods train rattled behind.

Only a flimsy curtain
separates us from that other life
that does not exist
but still goes about its business.

I can hear them now again
on the other side,
rattling pans, squabbling.

Oh the gods take us apart
like a piece of old bread.