Your red dress sweeps down
Your curves your truthful self
Moving smooth away from
Words.

Running round the Isle of Wight
To keep up with the boats.
- Is that all I ever do?
But rocks and lonely beach
And distances - are pilgrimage
And race with self
As much as waves and sky.

Plane wheels slow, a last half turn, and stop.
Fading jets, ignored companions for the miles,
So loud again in silence.

Their ringing absence leaves a sliver of clear sight.
As all unwind from one life to another
Searching in a tiny 'and' of time
For the pieces they must carry off from
Now to then.

You hold back a little from the crowd,

And look away and see beyond the
London grey, a tree in fullest height of green.

And in that fragile moment's grace
Heart and mind leap through to fields, to water
And to empty skies that have nothing,  
So have all.

You rise and walk along the aisle.

You smile.

I start my day my room my world I root
Around my fumbling life for clothes for
Pen for phone, for all my pointedness.
For time. And clattering down the stairs
I clock the walls of me, my life my purpose
And toward the course the road my prize the voyage
I leave.

The cat walks slowly out of my iambic lines.
Listens to the rain.

I mean this ‘Rigmarole’ word well.
I place it on your path like flowers, rain
For you to see and know that
In your comings,
Goings beings fleetings in the greater Swirl,
I feel your wonder in the day-to-day
Of all our days.

Looking up, I set my mind to wander
From the work in front of it towards
A deeper now.

The rain, the endless exhale of the laptop fan...
And then I touched the paper. Found a tunnel
Back to me.

My page days turn too quickly.
Flighty meanings - reach to catch a word.
Half seen, half felt, half heard.
But might have saved for me a bright and lovely second.

Perhaps a fleeting truth is only right
For this, our running whispering,
Grave paved life.