1.. that feeling, that .
arrives unexpected from darkness, some winters’ mornings,
opening the door to the sound of one black bran bird calling.
track four repeated. that
comes on waking finding peace and comfort bound in clean
arises with perfume, an uncertain memory.
it may be chemicals, peptides in the brain as love, what
ever the germ or warfare
I find no word to describe, no random feather nor dust on
my plate. pass a finger.
that feeling of trimmed nails upon the keys pounding
words and silences.
while music plays. that feeling. that.
syrup stings my tongue.
let not words defeat me
in the chaos of this place.
I like to speak of abstraction,
I like my washing blowing high,
fresh winds and freedom,
scented with robins eggs
and butter flight.
I lived in a flat once, balconied
and still have bad dreams.
tongue tied, nothing to say.
no words about the house standing,
tree shadowed, wind shocked.
empty now, the owner gone.
a different place,
a new face, looks back,
at all that is begun.
yes it is tied, sewn into our
bodice, laced tightly.
look to the old ways.
as the beetle crawls
we move slowly now.
describe the moment when walking
through the garden wind whips by.
look up the sky is full of leaves flying.
wonder and be joyful at all that there
do wet leaves blow as good as dry?
I love the aesthetics of these poems – their delicacy and sparseness, which makes every word, every piece of punctuation, count. They are gently enigmatic – mysterious without melodrama. The photograph that goes with Tenement is very beautiful. Lost for words is my favourite, with its curious transitions from the face in the house to the life of insects”.