You jump up 
to be held,
excited 
now settled.

I worry 
when you get sick.
It’s not like I can ask 
if today is any better.

I take my time 
looking into you.
We can’t hold eye contact.
Don’t have to.

‘It can’t be comfortable’,
I say.
But boney knees 
are rest.

‘What do you want’,
I ask.
Then you turn
and I know it’s ok.

Like a penny down a well 
clanging
until the noise stops 
it’s value lost
to the pit 

Anxiety 
is in no way gradual
pages unfold
faster than a hand 
can hold 

Hope
lost
to a fleshy belly 
feeding
from inside

My hands are black with hope 
from living in the earth.
Soil sunk into my rinkles 
of skin and mind 

Memories. I am young 
we are making cake
hands full of flour, sweet sugar 
A separate chocolate bowl for me 

Not much has changed really.
Still resist it.
Too slow to do what I should
too fast to quit when I shouldn’t 

Leave me here
holding on 
like we used to.
I remember

Clay drinks rain from the downs
like a sponge, till it flies
beneath our sleeping village 
out to a common stream.

The bed is not it’s own
it only gives.
A being that lies not in the living 
but in the honour of a life well lived.

It knows,
fate travels up and down its bends 
only on occasion do the inspired young 
have a go;

Waves break,
shapes form and flatten, 
ripples open, deepen,
dive.

It doesn't last 
a current too strong, 
a word too loud, 
a purpose.

No melancholy here.
Fresh rain from the hills comes
for ducks to wade, 
fish riggle.

Jealousy? Envy? No.
Nor hope for a new way.
Love of place,
it knew all along.

A soft sun hovers upon white skin  
soon to burn it of innocence.

Winter months went, untested, wilted,
now a fleshy wrinkle.

Like a bird of prey, claws bury to bone and round and up again 

heat cooks the blood to boil, bubbles
rising like floating dead.

Without her knowing, the sun had murdered.
Into the shadows, it waits 

I have come from hills 
now buried in my mind. 

I tread lightly 
to preserve
this flat land
make peace 

Fields of yellow rape
ripe with the sun.
Bunched crops sing
at a whisper 

Sounds of a field,
breath upon wind, 
voices whipping up
above thick hedgerow  

I cross to a verge in shade 
tweets peak, pitch squeezed 
from a robins belly, paused 
now holding height, hanging 

The yellow towers don’t rest 
stripping the sky’s light 
for lift above the flat
-

Sometimes 
when the day is 
normal 

In a 
sequence of old 
routine

we drift

Can I hold you,
one of your hands
just sit 

My attention
not heart was
failing 

You bare no fault
all along
it was me

Black tarmac streets run
drips on a mirror.
I hear noises.
Cars breaking
guls cracking

Big city
yet,
the pause.
I am lost
not alone
 
There is an old church god left 
or maybe it was rich people 
to feel less guilty 
about their money 
or their thoughts 
 

I like this
louder, satisfying quiet.
Don’t miss the field 
Got a square of green here
and structures of man

The white bone in my knuckle stabs
through yellow skin, a leathery 
thin wafer, a winter coat 
layered from cold  

Pink, soon it will be, pink
petals and quiet dancing 
fields of golden sun
thawing me 

Fingers, soft 
to the joy of birth, the arrival 
of Birds, sun, songs.
Endless 

I wait.
My sour hand holds
these days clenched before 
life opens

Present is the layer
Above the ache that settled 
Without my permission  
With my knowledge 

I let it be  
Like a thorn in my hair it bedded 
A rot that 
Stopped 

This moment 
Light and crisp and open - time 
Green and wide 
Shared

It’s not like the thoughts stop 
They come say hello  
Off again 
Don’t stick 

A self is here 
The witness to it all 
Just not batted
Judged  

Space 
Inserts into 
The act of 
Being 

My Imagination plays 
Childlike 
Games 
Again 

The river 
Runs clear water
I see 
Fish