Those who see you
holding up the city’s beauty,
a jade torch in your hand.
Talk of the goddess
in night time dreams,
sleeping above their soul.
But I see a second skin,
peeling in stale sunlight.
Coloured by a petrol moon,
and rose shift shadows.
You said “Is this all?”
I turned a course, long ago
Calling to you, “fly”……
But there was no more face.
Only funeral money,
and people trying to make sense
of the rainy season.
 

Most evenings, when life tires me.
I walk by banks of the Wei.
I see beautiful ladies
walking their dogs, alone.
Sometimes, children
say hello to me.
As though we have met before.
Other times, I watch
the few fish left scramble for life
For as long as they can.
Mostly, I just walk on – in the rain.
Between the banks of the river
and clouds in a puddle.

There is gray in my hair.
Recovered from pain
in autumn waters.
Recovered from beauty
when it first sprang.
And at the end, recovered
from death to the bone.
All creation changed.
Coming and going, entangled.
The nearest thing
to being alive.

Today, again, and for me.
Spoke the heart inside my heart,
yearning for you.
I tried to ignore
these dumps of yearning.
Simply as a gaze,
directed at you.
A red-haired girl,
waiting at the gate –
soaked in rain.
On snowy days like these,
there are no graves.
And the memories too,
have no graves.

A loss of love and kisses,
by drought and winter winds.
Spring, like a brook in the heart.
Running, running away.
A rainbow shell,
missing the sound
of waves, and rain.
How many days
like this – indeed.

No spring rain.
A poets feet clomping.
Drawing sweet life with every step.
The roots aged from
lights of past years,
and still in winter wraps.
With a drifting shadow bloom.
I remember those long nights,
bedded on straw and feathers.
Her touch was sure.
Each kiss was plush.
Mornings held off,
until the moon’s infection
was complete.
And the tireless eyes
of the great bear had closed.
On this ground,
love would never come
more easily to me.

Sat in the bus,
first time in more than a year.
Nobody, says ‘hello’
No, ‘how are you Andrew?’
I feel like
singing a rain song.
But the flowers
will always grow beautiful.
Please continue to sleep.

I saw the moon last night

Alive as you and me.

Higher than a blue magpie

and the sky larks call.

Spring air and night time glory.

Washed white with plum scent.

I leap from depths.
And thought I knew my death.
But I did not recognise her.
This spring of the ox.

Falling, sisyphus cried for me.
Carrying a few grains
of his soul, back to the world.
His eyes tenderly closed.

Look out world, I thought.
There are no more
breaths of whales.
Just bones and darkness.

And you?
Just one beggar’s bag.
The joy of dewdrops, now vapor.
A sworded woman, in a dream.

Hurtling around the streets,
waiting for someone
to tell you everything.
It’s just you spinning inside.
The clouds and the
falling leaves laughing.
Your mouth loosened
by cheap lipstick.
The lie, is a soul
over your heart.
We will never run
the same course again.
Just sing a song
about moving along
another road.
Some place between
earth and paradise.