It was a day for dandelion clocks
A breeze brisk off the sea
The grass waving; an ocean of it
And the seed-heads
Floating on their parachutes
Fairies, you said
Once upon a time

I was surprised
Watching their white drift
The lines of willows swaying

At two
I wondered about lions
Their yellow manes
But these were more like the sun
Burning on the grass
On the day of clocks

The Nakhal fort cleaner,
broom like an automatic weapon,
bucket, a water grenade.
Posing against the sun-bleached wall
he seems about to run,
as we click
and click,
catching his faded trousers,
his white shirt and grey beard,  
noble nose,
cloth ragged round his head.

I thought he would recite passages of poetry
Rumi and Firdawsi,
I had a mind he could view my heart,
what hid there.
But he said nothing,
and gazed into the lens
like a cat.

With his broom and bucket,
he was king of that place,
sweeping stairs and rooms,
the view to the mountains,
a crenulation,
as we stepped along the walls,
debris from another country,
and waited for his broom
to sweep us home.

In green watered space
Lie mysterious deepen
And four poles white sky

En le vert d’eau
Espaces de la ciel et blanc
Quatres objects mysteres

Voices of birds
A white feather is falling
This April evening

Trillions of years from now
The scattered remnants of our Universe
Float in endless darkness,
All stars extinguished.

Scattered fragments and swirls of gas
Are all that remain
Of what was once a glory
Filled with countless galaxy clusters
Shining bright.

But something happens.
A trigger point is reached.
Two particles attract.
Two more.
And more.

Ever so slowly, Gravity takes hold again
Then faster and faster
All that matter
Implodes.

The Universe contracts again
Shrinking down
To that central Singularity,
Back to that point
From which it all Began.

Paul Butters

you are a mystery to me
nameless magician
invisible man
work of art that i can't see

intangible
yet so very, very real

i feel your thoughts
sometimes
like hot breath
on my neck

a tingle
along my thigh
when i lay down
to rest

and the only thing
i know
is your words

my locker is cleaned out
i have
deleted the documents
on my desktop
my uniforms are washed
and waiting for
the next new employee
tomorrow will be another day
and i won't be here

it turns out
i am leaving
as noteless
as i came

I came home.
Built a fire.
Washed the dishes.
Took the youngest to school.
I have dogs stacked
like cordwood in my lap
fighting over a squeaky
Yellow rubber duck.
The big one just farted.
Time for a cold beer
before bedtime.