Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.

Airplanes like comets
drawing cloud-lines in the sky,
rips in reality beyond which other worlds lie.
Worlds bathed in fire, because orange shines through.
If reality really ripped, what would we do?
My mind begins to spiral, up but so low
till all that's left is the nothingness I know,
and suddenly you stand at the edge of the end,
a universe of silence  in which we pretend
to have a purpose, that there is truth, that we are real.
But when you perceive there's nothing, there's nothing to feel.
An accidental planet trying to fill the space
but in this universe of silence, we simply have no place
when I release my fantasies, I lose it all
the ground falls away, and equally I fall.
So I grasp at small things...
like man-made comets with metal wings
ripping reality, passing by
painting purpose on an empty sky.

Not know incense store temple
Few enter cloud peaks
Ancient trees no person path
Deep hills what place bell
Spring sound choke sheer rock
Sun colour cold green pines
Dusk empty pool bend
Peace meditation control fierce dragon


I did not know the incense storing temple,
I walked a few miles into the clouded peaks.
No man on the path between the ancient trees,
A bell rang somewhere deep among the hills.
A spring sounded choked, running down steep rocks,
The green pines chilled the sunlight's coloured rays.
Come dusk, at the bend of a deserted pool,
Through meditation I controlled passion's dragon.