It sits still Stagnant The surface a mirror of misery Life long gone Waiting for the rain But it never comes It sits still Still with pain Still with melancholy Paralyzing despair It recedes into itself Fading away Cracking and crumbling Waiting for the rain Waiting for the tears long gone dry A settled numb stillness Waiting for a ripple Waiting for a change Waiting For salvation
a ring of chestnuts aflame and much hotter here than Clive is to toast eh blue as shearling laid Cumberland newt with proclivity as his legacy for hire is too tired for the Pennines
we walk through the garden the one beside the house with the yellow door watching the geese lay in their pond then we look up at the night sky gazing the wonders that are the stars and you start singing la vie en rose
the water ripples you start skipping stones the long grass brushed against our ankles as if it were a cat, rubbing its head on us
the grass left a mark on my shoes but it’s all right because you left a mark on my heart.
The mind at play is a rocking boat: It goes along the flow of our thoughts Between destination and arrival ports. And on the boat we learn of causality.
The mind at rest is a quiet pond: Its surface mirrors the world As the edges are all withdrawn. And in the lake we learn of unity.
The mind in a rush is a storm: Waves collides in a frenetic waltz Where one sees hills in eruption. And in the storm we learn of identity.
...if we could get the vessel across; ...if we could face our own shape; ...if we could settle on the hilltops; What more would be left for us to behold?
Written in June 2019 - for an exhibition in Peking.
when they told me: Guard your spirit i laughed, frilly manner listless with decision a water lily bobbing; eager to cut my anchor and drift Sinking Sinking drifting into deep
