How dark is his inside sometimes
The light is up, a sun over the stream
different smells, good food and he
sits inside - sulks over nothing made

into something
too big too bright

for my body to take in
for my mind to zoom out

He calls me his strange little
girl, makes sense I cannot seem
to learn from our failure to stay
together, hit my head on a tree
yesterday - nothing to write
home about

not something
that big or bright

for my body to take in
for my mind to zoom out

So I hired a kayak and took
the stream by surprise, stroking
it slowly, calmed down as the
riverbank moves over, carrying

me to something
so big, so bright

my body takes in
my mind lest forget

Mustering my army of coats
without knowing why this tower
why nan and uncles were always on
about a proper robe, the sturdy winter
one, a cascading summer one.

One for every fall in order that
when you parade, you still see the
seasons, you feel no shivers.
So we started with costly coats
though I marched for fleas or thrifts

Doing life the other way around
for richer then poor, cast-offs
outside the high street as new life
to your older self - my boundless
battle of beauty and staying warm

They settled his head on two pillows
one extra behind his back, supporting
a weak smile, comforting a strong fear.
Ill follows death; his fall-down, failure
to rise to old heights, unplanned for
such young days.

Sweet and ever considerate on his bed,
as snow in the sun when nurses, smoking
doctors laughed aside. While my alarm
clock tells his time, a heartbreaking bye
to his mum. Two o'clock too early, yet
15:45 just right.

His punctual big heart.
His way to stay in the end.

I hold my breath
(cannot even get to ten)
Glue myself back together
(ten-second untraceable)

Watching music day out

Feeling the words
(ten tabs open @my Apple)
Echoes of encounters
I happen on the train
(the ten fortyfive)

To travel is to come alive

I am not thinking
I am not back home
(ten times no)

And I do know that place,
only once, Puerto Angel,
and every new memory
constructs itself around
that shore, learning to
read the swifwater, to
my waves being safe,
my extant outside time -
timeless quality is what
I always seem to need
and find in this haven.

In the gloomy ink of an autumn afternoon
she carries back, her youth - lately travels
To feel       freedom
                  timelessness
To free from
what she won't want to know
To everlast
where she will want to go
Keep going my love
To wish,        to search
Her wish,     her search
Riven by past
Consumed by curious
Future travels as the
cartography of her new book
the subtle wave of pages
                  or
the subtle wave of weeds
she looks up, discovers the
deep deep blue above
deep darker blue below
Graced by beauty
A vast landscape of coral
without dividing, the same
depth above as beneath
To feel           freedom
                       timelessness
To free buoyancy
what she wants to show
In the shiny part of the summer afternoon
she thinks forward, still young - forever travels

My own little
private hell

In a way it moves me
strangely to be
so insecure so grey
so hollow in a way
black tide's back
fire slowly fades
along all I wrong
my storm my sanity
the art's to abide
and enjoy the ride
to hell and back
and back again
to feel real again

Would you stay and  
sit with me please?