Bird on a winter fence
all frozen feet and frosted wing
scans the sky and wonders why
crows don't fly south till spring

Early morning tea
Sleepy hands on a china bowl
Peace in the garden

Ash
falls soft
upon the name of love
the game of love
the eternal flame of love
which cools until
through burning embers
one remembers after all
how sweet it was to fall

Speak scarlet secrets
A million sweet vermilions
Whispered in the dark

Words have no walls
except for those enclosures we build to keep them in
some are hollow
splendid fruit containing wasps within
others fill with meaning
fattened ears of corn
they are mysterious
invisible as the wind
with the power to destroy
or to fill our sails
if we find ourselves becalmed
words can be everythings
or nothings
without ears to hear
or grace of page
a stage in which to share
they are nought but empty promises
the sound of passing air

A yen is not a thing
it's the wish
to hold the string
of a yellow balloon
you once lost
on a windy day
in the hills
of your mind

Bubble child
a pretty fragile thing
of pinks and blues
and other multicoloured hues
we watched you
with delight
in skipping dancing floating flight
the wind changed
and we moved on
I turned to look
but you were gone