carefully her shadow
looked about for the devil
who found itself
laying quite comfortably amongst
some old tarnished cutlery.

here, shadows can recall
what tall crystal forgets
She placed her knife down
alongside the other silver,
perfectly still

The kingdom is troubled,
she smoothed back her curling hair
‘my secret is that
you really should not have come back here’

alarmed,
I wandered ‘round the room
looking for two white stones and hope
but instead I found
that I am lame with memory.
she shook with jellied laughter
I implored weakly, just above a whisper,
‘Nevertheless, you must tell me
what Juliet said.’

Where the stars turn to rust,
I hit it right
and it made me wild with thought
that before we know where we are
It will be Spring
and She will enter

I did not enjoy seeing you the other day
and I wear your necklace as a reminder
of sweet things and of your seduction
my heart regards me, steadfastly
with tiny, bright eyes, and
ultimately retreats rejoicing
in the strength of ten thousand archers
golden arrows fly
so numerous they blot out the sun

Stange shadows come alive and
when shall I play for you the music of the
April rain?

Hector wears his leaves
in midsummer morning
paired with tangled tails, harsh with knots
while the kitten, bored and yawning
sits demurely

The ball begins to unwind again
and I’ll admit my voice was reproachful
I saw the sunlit bonfire overhead and
turned my heart as if to say
I’m glad to help if only I might
gently touch
a perfect impression of you
and your red eyes darting sideways

In this peculiar space
your brightness fades
and quietly you said to yourself
‘I couldn’t make you tidy’

This old dame will outlast the seasons
and Nature, affected
staggers aside,
blunders

A shadow deep beneath
a ruined pile
thought that it should be
dead by now
I put out my hands and
wicked tears fell like rain
I gave a kiss to make it understand and touched something else,
tho it flew away too fast for me
to see distinctly, in the darkness
It told me
‘I am here’

There was no telling as much,
always the same, the sun and the wind
somewhere
I had that chilled feeling,
certainly in early morning
as I think you very well knew.

gently, over a surface distraction that saw
the white giant crumble,
he flailing
and failing to be still
and at indistinct intervals
staggered, without consequence
flecked insane although I had not seen it

a rotten companion, solitude
a reeling, drunkard at ease in starlight
he will not hear her speak of what is
and what is not

I heard the owl cry ‘away with her!’
and how nice for me to see you
clinging to the flower spray, for now
we are older and for once safe
in our chambers
yes! consider those girls never alone
nor melancholy,
not the least of which in dreams

the moonlight made spots before me
colored
while i entered groping
singing
‘Will you dine with me on eggs and beer?’

The silkworms are but gone but words might hold me in catastrophe
The sun will go on with its usual calling
don’t fret now
it is our bedtime.

Nobody’s about the polish of
carbon darkness
but to her,
hours before her rescue
it was dreadful
and later
as the night brims shining,
she would gather about her
bright eyes for a sad tale.

I do not trust the steam in dreams
and yet I cannot stop it.
Happy summer days the sky pours
although there was nothing much to look at save the rains that polished a sailor’s sea
Something kindred and melancholy
remembers me
a wanton, restless bird
Eurydice
I dreamt disagreeably that I was drowned
then rescued before dawn
upon a bed of anemones,
(friends) expanded and swelled
to welcome me or were they violets?

What I found were
bright spots, vague synchronicities
and phony boys
pretending to have a secret
that they kept from all the rest.
I thought your voice was a trumpet call,
moving me to tears
and it’s an odd feeling
having watched the dawn
and heard the nightingale.
Did I like it?
I certainly did not.
Instead my heart unknowing
reached for chaos.

Always write at midnight, gaily
any scrap will do
it seems
I found her to be difficult, yet charming
and a little doubtful,
her lies smell of sweet cream
and the sound of rain.
Now, hush.

I could think of no other purpose,
Love.
They sang throughout the night
while I was found, in the garden.
It would be simpler, he said, if they would just remember me, but
there were too many of them.

‘With a ‘well, well, well,
what have we here?’ I can enter any room
with confidence, hand on hip
[the Nurse called from within]

It reminded me of the idiots and ghouls
between myself and myself,
while I scratched like a cat.

What a piece of junk!
But I think that it will be enough.
The whole world was changing in those days while the haze reminds me of leaves,
and of you.

You are standing in a garden.