empty

I would go empty
into my father’s house

make my house empty
of all paraphanalia

clear books from the shelves
in the top-most room
where we ate the apple
core and all

I had a photograph on the wall
composed of sunlight
re-arranged

now there is nothing there anymore
but dust and cobwebs
all has changed

if I still drank
I’d drink your health
who said this world we make ourselves

then shamble up
to an unmade bed

empty

upon taking a walk in the sun

you were born on a beautiful spring morning
in the shadow of the mountain side
although it could have been any time of year
and in quite another clime

now it all floods back on you
just where you are truly from
returning like the long lost lover
upon taking a walk in the sun

all upon a bright spring morning
as into your garden you are come
life is but a single moment
taking a walk in the sun

if I were to lay

if I were to lay upon the field all day
until the dew soaked through my shirt

then I would have a picture of something great
forever in my head

while the earth

the earth would wear an imprint of my outstretched form
for a short time

a short time alone

the passage of one cloud across the sun

the time it takes the buck to run for home

[first posted Dec 31, 2013]

navigation 

when conversation became difficult
I made for the shelter of the trees
looking back across the sun-bleached field
to where the party was in full swing
appreciating the amplitude of tall silences
that I could navigate more easily

from there I could see you slowly circling
coming to rest
before finally heading out

navigation

ascertaining a position
calculating the most favourable route
between one point and another

even when there is no point at all

navigation

just moving around

it takes skill

practice

finesse

when even gentle waters
can seem treacherous

safer amid trees

they don’t move around

at least don’t appear to

I whispered a quiet thank you
and plotted a course back

zenith

hope came in the form of a

shadow
dark and terrible

threatening everything
at the bar

at the end of the street
I was suicidal with joy

and at the lonely table
top

at midnight
sipping sweet despair

spinning
secrets of the heart

in another tongue
for the dog to howl at pretty

soon after it disappeared
like I said

it would
left me here alone

cross-legged on the floor
with the fierce

sun at its zenith
casting zero

hill walking 1

hill walking in too many clothes
I chose to ask the sun
just what he meant
by shining
and if he knew
how many revolutions
we’d go through
before we’re done

and furthermore
did he know
which celestial sphere
reigned over him

any inkling?

just asking

I have been forced by illness
to ask these idiotic things

I lost a sweater
and felt no better

he soon went in
and darkness again
prevailed

[first posted 9 July 2015]