On a cold steamy morning,
With your  velvet touch
You muzzle my neck.
And I share your breath
As you welcome me back.

Whilst the coppery gleam
Of your shimmering skin
Ripples under my hand,
I lean against your strength
Feeling warm and content.

Your gentle eyes
Reflect the rays
Of the Winter sun
On the golden haze.

I weave my hand,
Through your shiny mane,
And my sigh is steep,
As you whinny deep.

Dark   green  depths  of  death,
where  waters  trickle  and  laugh
and  tiny  flowers  dart
in  the  sweet  fresh  breeze.

Pull  me  into  thine  un-dulled  depth
and  make  me  one  with  thee.
Blend  my  body  with  thine  earth
fashioning  a  sullen  element.

To  pause  in  a moment of fear  
and  everlasting  awe,
to drink thy beauty still
from  life’s  edge,  up  here.

What  vast  and  unveiled  sand  before  me  lies?

It  is  the  desert,
where  the  morning
cries  farewell
to  treacherous  night;    
willingly  fleeing  
as  dunes  set  alight!

Day  has  arrived  oh!
…  and  so  the  harsh  sun …
who  only  disappears
when  day  has  done.


So  friendly  and  mild
at  first  in  the  morn.
With  its  temper  soft,
and  kind  without  scorn.
But  when  it  sees  clearly
the  vast  empty  sands,
it flares  up  in  rage
with  fiery,  flaming  hands.


Burning  on  thorns
reluctantly  growing
like  ungrateful  creatures
to  the  sun’s  overflowing:
A whole  night  has  passed
and  naught  has  been  done!


How  cruel  can you  be,
o  merciless  sun!

Where  once  the   grasses  played  and  ploughed,
in  faithful  winds  had  swung  and  bowed,
there  now  lie a thousand  flies  adrift …
All  choked  in  sod  and  soaked  to  death.

A million  artificial  stars
be  falling  stars  that  never  stop.

And  on  the  surface  tracks  of  dust
be  grinding  footsteps  hard  and  fast,
too  cruel  for  moon  and  earth  too last.

Groping  hands  of  eternal  fright
not  finding  what  they  ever  might .
The  treasures  they  will  no  more  find,
obstruct  their  eyes  and  make  them  blind.

                                          
Through  brutal  conscience, smog  and  fire
our  paradise   has  changed  to  mire.

Breakers in a misty grey sea-storm,
Spray-foam rising and tossing,
Plunging me into seasick momentum.

I ****** out white stretched palms
And throw back my head,
The salt air stings my throat.

It burns within my chest
While hanging feetless
In the storm driven billows.

I fix my eyes on the
pearly black cloudless night
and beg the stars to anchor me.

The dough in the pizza pan
Becomes my heart.
And with my hand, my fist,
I strike it and flatten it.

I force it to change,
Plaster it into limp pancake.

With my palm I knead it,
But the pain which should ebb out,
Will not separate and flow away.

It stays inside the dough,
The flattened,
Moulded,
Hand-mangled dough!

The moon slowly rises in the east,
And taints the mist an eerie glow,
My will is strong,
Defiant of the night!

The lonely night whirls crisp sparkles
Into interminable eternity,
I heave a sumptuous breath
To make me brave!

And long before the slumbering dawn
Dreams of even waking up,
I’ll press my cheek against your back
And slip my arm around you!