Between the blacks of bending trees
I meet the moon at in betweens
I glimpse her glories, wild and worn
Aglow atop a stirring storm

Oh breathing birches blown about
Beneath her silver silence
Beyond the fields I farthest see
Along the dark horizon

There the hymns of heavy winds
Beyond the blown and gloomy leas
Where ghostly grass and rushing reeds
Dance darkly 'round my falling feet

Singing by the wayside
Bellowing in the trees
Lovely like a turtle dove
Lives my hopes and dreams

Far away in the mountains
Buried in a box
My hopes and dreams lie dormant
Gated by the locks

Singing hallelujah
To the once gorgeous mural
Can't distinguish paintings
From extreme peril

But the hopes are beautiful like oceans
And they look like stained glass
And although they might be oblivious
They smell like cut grass

Emerson and Fuller,
Thoreau and Whitman,
Again and again, it has been written:
Nothing ever ends, death is no
Impasse;
So when you’re gone we’ll look for you,
In our Leaves Of Grass.

Blaring sun
pieces of skin left in the grass
-an aggressive game of soccer

i saw a vision
or reality squirrel
sitting still on grass

Next to what was once

the farmyard, a kitchen chair --


in the tall wild grass.

Next to what was once

the farmyard, a kitchen chair --


in the tall wild grass.

You've had this thought before
The flowers on the window sill
The distant sound of a radio
The streets
The grass
The stars

The sky's dome above your head
Everything is normal on Earth
Exactly as it is now
Look up at the sky
God is in his heaven
God is in his heaven
A god who's very very silent

Home awaits
A beautiful serene place
Of mystery
And peace
The one thing you will never find again
All the love and patience of your friends
The tenderness you feel

You no longer live there
Those times are gone
And so are those people
Why did you come here?
Why are you still here?
You don't know

The freedom of finality
That's all you have now
The great see-through world
All things bright
Only you remain
You against the nothingness

It's not fire
It's not ash
Everything is calm
You can only sense the shape of it
A pit opening up in your stomach
A blank space
With no point of reference
Something that has always been there
A new reality
Barely out of sight
Where only one type of motion is possible
The motion of a human throat swallowing
A throat into which the world will vanish

What strange words to celebrate a new world

No cities
No oceans
No mountains

You can breathe now

And finally

clipping a trail
  through the un-mown grasses of prehistory
i am reduced and nuded 
  by the buoyant vat   of sky baby blue

the grasses seed the heels of my work clogs
spiking sensory jabs through my socks
      a shy petting of pain

with the prow of my stride
  tiny residents vault scut and flutter
neatly evading   un panicked

radiating wet heat raises to my waist
i stop my destructive wading
i am slit, vulnerable and fed
i am primitive and free
i have membership
my uniform   banished

i take in a humid breath

about face
       and the illusions are switched
the buildings icon dominates
       and draws my responsibility
i can smile at the wash of life
       and reinstate myself in paid labour