In thinness and dreams,
I know this place.
See how the trees
no longer fill with colour.
And there is no wilderness,
rich and deep enough –
to serve the wolfish tempers.
I wear the present itch
for love and dignity.
Before the bed,
and not the knife.
Only the fringe is left,
I can touch it, sometimes.
But, we are always found wanting.
And my concerns
are more personal.
And as luminous
as a blue magpie,
echoing , echoing – love, love.
The couldron of a new morning.