I scan my phone for love
And to see if I can become more
loveable.
While the washing machine spins into a panic.

I miss and yearn
Long and miss.

Then I change things.
Like I always knew I would.

I take control of my death
Life becomes a painting
Full of beautiful mistakes
Held lovingly against the perfection of nature
Like the sea colour of leek leaves against new soil.
Like a crow playing hawk against a blue sky.

Soldiers and Fairies and clouds like smoke signals
I run for a bunker today.
To a breath that is soft and has no opinions.
To the owls of Cluny Woods who meet the crows at Dawn and pass the batton.
Enraptured by the smell of dog and mushrooms,
I walk with the unborn holding my belly together.

A storm comes on strong
A band of tropical rain.
Like men in a mosque
We all bow to it
Palm leaves, birdsong and I.

We let it loosen us
Make us bright and sacred.
Humble and full
I am gently soaked in beauty
More tender to the World at storms passing.

We talk of why
In this place
We seem not ******
These peoples also, we say.
Is it what surrounds us?
The intimate is-ness?
Vine on tree trunk
Rain on earth.
Tree held by rock
Bird held by flock
Are we brought to a better truth here
Where there is no need to
Rush for confirmation and release.
Does the sea water please us
Enough.

My 60 year old beach body
Renders me invisible
To men on deckchairs.
I flaunt fat
Smile without agenda
Settling in the comfort of years.

A dragon fly
Over a swimming pool
Zig zags with purpose
Like being in at the deep end
Taking a hard decision.

He is red
Like the writing on the wall
Saying 1.6 meters
As I swim my 16th lap.
Like the 4x4 Taxis here

He is trapped
in the realm of tourists
This pool holds no reeds on which to land
No link between air and water depths
For the hatching of generations

He repeats
the habits of his ancestors
Guards this sterile domain
With militant commitment
His choices narrow with each day.

He shows me
Gives me a lesson
Makes me question rote and way
I let go a little, grateful for choice
And human options.

One day he is gone
Then a second day.
I wonder about that
Did he finally see, on my on lap 24,
the futility of defending small horizons.

You buy lemons and
I eat mango salad
We sponge up the radiance of this place.
The culture is rich and bright
So throws deep shadows.
I keep amulets of gratitude close and
Feel the full futility of trying to impress
When wisdom is a thing that changes daily
According to the season,
And the available fruit