Passing Stillness

A wandering weep,
The sky on the sea,
Blue-greenness sparkles and dulls,
With a restful pulse.
A baby mallard,
Assured of safety
Settles under fluttering down,
Steadying now,
Matching the stillness of the water –
But not quite.
A man stops,
His heart a swell with the tide,
The sun colours his cheeks
Warming and calm.
He absorbs – looks – sees – Is.
His shadow walks on


That man is ticking

That man is ticking
His eyes stare – straight –

A child smiles
On a dandeline green,
Sunlight dances
On top of a puddle.
All unseen.

When he lies
Eyes shut tight,
Dew-laiden dandelines,
Glisten –
Over what has been,
Not might.

We Are

Absolutely beautiful poem – I just had to re-blog

Ephemeral Catharsis

Our soul
through our fused bodies
in the heavy darkness
of palpable sleep.

We are a stone
shattered at creation
and sent stumbling for
thousands of years
before finally
rolling back together
on some innocuous shore.

Enveloped by the hot night
beading sweat on our stone skin,
we are band-aided back together,
the shattered edges soothed
like lidocaine
as they fuse.

As rivers are the limbs
of the ocean,
so are your limbs mine,
merely a continuation
of like and like
flowing together.

A tightness, snuggness
of all our pieces
(and aching to dissolve
for good)
is the swaddling dress
that lulls us
into the depths of

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