The world will wait on you awhile.
Let your heart be eased, and all around you peace.
Let nightbirds sing you to your rest
And all discord and cares and efforts cease.

My love is sleeping in his tousled bed.
At last his breath comes now in sweet repose.
His face, his cherished face, at last unlined-
As in his dreams, Sleep, all his hopes bestows.

Oh,that I could be Sleep, to give him thus!
To take from him, his cares and give him bliss!
But I can only watch him as he sleeps,
And, quiet, leave him all unknowing, with a kiss.

In the bleak December cold,

when the lights of Christmas have gone out,

a frozen emptiness gathers - poised above the lost and alone.

It seeps into the hearts of those who have taken vows

To the Holy Order of the Forsaken.

Witness the new "Holy Innocents" whose spirits walk the night.

Blithe spirits, who gave till their essence became too transparent.

Their proffered cups - now too airy to fill,

they cry into the wind for substantiality.

They walk towards the verge of the world and the old year turning.

Shall they plod on - or silently, simply, step off the edge?

My friends, - there is no life, where there is no love.

In a world that is caught
between all the cracks,
there's a lonely old woman
with a **** on her back.
She is wearing a shawl
that's tattered like feathers.
She is speaking aloud
And the words are her tethers.
She raises her arms
And she spins in the darkness.
Weaving and tripping
Against the world's starkness!

She is chanting the words.
She is moaning the words!
She is crying the words!
She is shouting the words!
She is whispering the words.
She is sighing the words...
She is drowning in...words!

And in her dark eyes
That are shadowed..now streaming,
You can see that shes crazy!
You can hear her mad keening!
Her shawl lifts and flutters-
the feathers all airborne!
They swirl all around her
Like a dandelion snowstorm!
And when the wind soughs
And clear is the air
.......There's a crack in the sky
She is no longer there...

It could have been a pleasant Monday.
We sat outdoors and ate our sandwiches.
It was crisp October, and we were on a dig.
Earlier, we had used the transit to measure
teepee rings from the nomad Cree tribe
that once lived and loved here.
You'd found the marker stones.
I'd found a stone tool.

But now we sit having lunch in the tepid sun.
I looked at you and saw a young man
who swaggered with false confidence.
You wore an army jacket,though we were just 16.
Your hair was red, and a little curly.
Your eyes melted me, -robin's egg blue.
I looked at your hands still holding the paper
and I saw between the freckles on your wrist
a blue vein.

Without ability to stop myself I touched you there.
And then my mind whirled.
For the first time-
suddenly, I was in your blood,
your heart, your mind!
You were just as jolted as I was,
and we have never been the same.

40 years later. We write on your birthday.
You ask about my mother.
Do you ever say my name?

I have no sense of humour
I have no sense at all
I spend my whole life waiting
Just waiting for your call
being here without you
is so completely wrong
I'm here outside your tempo
I'm here outside your song.
Im haunting all my rooms now
just trailing like a ghost
I think of every thing
I miss holding you the most
It's more than half past midnight
I'm running out of time
There's nothing more to say now
Im running out of rhyme.... aaah!

I was walking on a winter's day
It was cold, and I was lonely
Wind to blow all thoughts away
.... too much for me right now

Will this be all there'll ever be?
Just to push against the wind
And feel the cold erosion?
And if that wind just disappears
Will that mean that I will fall...

...To fall and fall away?
A lifetime's walk to end this way
Looking for a fair wind.
My spirit still has silver wings
Will I fly away?

The city's light and darker places
are all strange to me.
I only see the glint and flash
of some other's recognition.
But mine is dull and lost.
The mist rolls in and dampens
all my spark,
and on my light-less windows
spreads the dew.
Here in my gypsy nightmares,
search I for you,
And reaching out, with staggered hand,
write to you.
See here, on darkened window, I breathe -
Write once, then in great sorrow,  leave.