some of the people
have double numbers,
speak in two tongues,
sing with three voices.

all being equal, the song
is sung in whatever
language, or creed.

indeed, we often say
the name of those, so
seeming to become
boring,

we carry on, we carry on.

plan visits to new places,
the sky is dark this morning.

men will sing with three voices,
and dance in their suits,
and i will be headlost, and dizzy.

leaving the coat
to bathe in pools
of light, under green,
dripping back into
the coat , red coat.

** notes from the red coat, a prediction.

maybe is the colours, red and white,
that appeal, the patterns, or the
retro items in the cupboard. he

gasped, and proclaimed the beauty
as the door was opened. so
yesterday, all was tidied, categorised,
more paper laid, for his, and my
delight.

he is home from holday.

tacked.

and there, unfinished,

tacked and smocked

the littled dress

sewn quietly with love.



i know.


i have done this,

when all else are asleep,

stitching, thinking,

listening to the rain.



when the voices stopped,

i asked how much.



one pound? yes

i will love it, thank you.



fled quickly away

we talked of god and the making.

the set was described, security lights
threw trees into shape and number, signs
that most things have a joy. there were
two hearts,

a space between.

it may be raining today.

in between downward dogs,
my phone buzzes —
again.
and again.

for fifteen whole minutes,
i leave you unread.

you’re drunk, smitten,
with someone i know,
someone you spotted
at a gig.

you send a live-feed
of your spiralling heart,
ask what to say,
if the moment does come.

i tell you to try.
say hi for me.
talk about music,
the crowd, the energy,
the way the incandescence,
blurry but kind,
makes them look soft
in that lavender light.

and you do.
of course you do.
you take a leap of faith,
while i sit here
in silence,
finding a hundred ways
to rehearse what my heart would
but my mouth will never say.

i asked her—
of all people—
if you’d ever said
anything about me.

i knew you wouldn’t.
you don’t hand
your secrets to anyone.

but she said the way
you look at me
is evidence enough.

she questioned
why i haven’t told you.

maybe you’d stay.
maybe you would.

but i could never
make you choose
between your dreams
and your chance with me,
only to watch us
fall through.

used to have to walk for miles
having much needing to be healed

now a stroll around the garden
-a little piece of paradise

or a drive around the Island
and beauty astounds

all this leading to a heartfelt
Thank you to the Divine.

i may like to have an exhibition,

of my small and useless things,

i make, which utterley

have no importance whatsoever.



probably a complete

waste of time,

in some minds, however

i should like to

arrange them

in some small room,

with dust

and motes that fly

in the sun’s beams.



you could scratchit there.