When the birds devour me
I hope they start with the soft tissue
my eyes and ears and mouth destroyed
my senses lost to the sky

When the birds devour me
I hope they find their fill in my stomach
where the weight of the world was carried far too long
wearing my viscera like Versace

When the birds devour me
I hope they pick my digits - one through ten and ten again
so I may touch every part of the world when they carry me away
so that my feet may fall on grounds I’d only dreamed to grace

When the birds devour me
I hope they tear open my chest and make their way behind these ribs
not realizing the irony of the situation as they sing
and I am filled with the music with each rise and fall

When the birds devour me
I hope they take my bones between them in their thanksgiving, pulling
wishing for legs to run and hands to hold, for lips to kiss
if they only knew, if they only knew

You will not tame this sea
either by humility or rapture.
But you can laugh
in its face.

Laughter
was invented by those
who live briefly
as a burst of laughter.

The eternal sea
will never learn to laugh.

Steam escapes the surface
Of infant mince pies.
It spirals upwards, dancing
Into the winter haze
Where headlights, opaquely visible,
Fight the fog.

The mist flurries atop the frozen pond,
Over brittle leaves, half caught.
The deer nuzzles in frosty thickets,
Searching the winter veil
For stray nut.

‘neath the tap my hands endure
The bitter cold of winter’s water;
But happily I return to my window,
And cast a gaze once more on winter Britain.
The fire leaves a smoky essence,
A homely smell.
December come.