We sit in the still
and through tiny buffeted windows
watch the stubborn shore arrest the fierce sea.

An old clock tocks as slow as winters
as we recall the beach of crowded summers

The cold wind whispers along the scurrying dunes
to throw the sand in abstract arcs
against the ice blue sky

In large coats, billowed scarves
and stout boots
we trudge against the bickering wind
blustering in its niggling argument
far into the sea.

I never thought our steps
could be this close
as we huddle and cower
against the wind

and in a tiny distance
the gale rips up our prints
as if no foot had ever trod.

Yet behind our watering eyes
We know that once two footsteps touched
Our shoes kissed
in the wild wet and wintry night

There will be warmth
in the accordion blessed bar
with pipe smoke leering to the rafters
and yellow light from candled glasses
casting tall shadows
of the shawled women
waiting for the long lost sailors’ return.

Shall I be a sailor then
to board the narrow boat of your body
in all the crash and yaw
the swell and deep
the thunder and breech
the pounding and clamour
until in the safe soundings
in the harbours of morning
we drift like flotsam
on the shoreline of sheets.

And driving home on a damp Sunday
will we marvel at the twisting rain
and how the tiny ship of our footsteps
survives the howling gales
and the all wild wide oceans of our watery ways

Once again, they present you that overused emblem
That you give importance as you are to them
Fragrant and they’re more vibrant than I am
Always holding them while I’m made of gem.
I’m often chosen and placed in the center
Though there are others which I believe are better
I’m feeling quite giddy that I shake my holder
Causing imbalance, I fell fast to the lower

Your eyes, the galaxy where all wanted to be
Like stars above they are most sparkling I see
Vivid planets and black holes that magnifies me
Glimpse it may be but time stops waiting for my chea

Now it’s the moment for the touch I’m longing for
But your hands refuse while you walk near my floor
Instead, you reach the flowers and walk out to the door
Gladly you came back, yet broom punches my core.

Should I be broken for you to notice me?
Should I be so humble crashing underneath thy?
Should I be in pieces for you to stare at me?
You once held me but you don’t look at me.
It is now you stare at me, but you can’t even touch me.

I woke at two
In the deep dark
with rain making soft lullabies
beyond the window.

In this space,
this moment
beneath the mantle,
There are splatters and deltas
Splayed like stretched fingers.

The drip from overhangs,
the dribble from ledges,
the patter at the glass,
as sure and soft as fingers on flesh

and there the hush
like breath against a summer tree
or a sigh of ghosts; still warm
with the memory of lost loves

So for a little while
I lie down in the darkness
and listen