I saw her in
my dream last night.
Alive as you and me.
She ran and ran.
With blossoms at the brink.
And sunless rivers weeping.
February is busy, she said.
The crowd wearing my face
and water like stone.
The world seemed silent
with a lily’s throat.
And as the moonlight
swiftly fell, she was gone.
Half a singing bird left.
A part of the noise.

Your giant spirit
was never in the grave.
Only ghost-scared people
thought it was.
Every lit candle,
a passing breeze.
That turn at last
to a trailing blue hair.
And a naked self-soul,
that flashes in a
bloody spree.

The glasses of an old man,
sunning himself
on the street corner.
A blooming pain,
bursting in the spring breeze.
Our mouths holding
the fragrance of night.
And in the distance,
the boat shudders, creaking.
But I have not wavered,
knowing that I have lived..
My footsteps retracing
the wood’s thick body.
And the fury of love, no less.

A thousand copies
of this poem,
floating around.
Weeping through
the cracks of the day.
It is unsurpassed peace,
and set to a soft fire.
At a narrow spot,
away to the south.
Your breath,
happier than before.
So often the dust.
Now beside the salt,
and the earth.

I stare at you from afar.
Bruised only slightly.
For a red blooded boy.
From the back
streets of Manchester.

So many kisses
come and gone.
A beauty you make.
From pillars of muck
and putrid waters.
A blood’s intense journey.

Closing my eyes,
plum rain falling.
in the distance.
I vanish to another place
and secret retreat.
A paradise found.

I image mountains.
A mirror boxed in.
Fading across
a rented field.
No longer
true to this.
Time stops
in my throat.
A chill in my joints.
And the rise again
of shame.

You caught me at a bad time.
A body still rising out of the dust.
Warding off life.
And bearing the beautiful quite.
On winter days,
when the sun has no rhyme.
I stand transfixed.
A body cast away like a corpse.
It’s just a whispering.
A life filled
All over again.

The sky itself
is revived.
Without any
misgivng.
An ascent beckons
from winter dying.
Flushed still,
in dim spring light.

January was busy.
I awoke in a
blue blaze of dawn.
A streak of sunshine
passing through my words.
At the end….
I was pushed away.
Like a small boat.
Another small bridge
over the months and days.
But I would gladly
wash these times,
over my whole body.
Than dance alone
in the winter noon.

Just let it be.
These halls of shame,
and sobbing green
bamboo leaf.
Will always be here –
you said.

Each night wind,
seizes you with panic.
Panic on the streets
and the center of the river.

But how beautiful
are the freebirds.
And life sparkles
with a kiss- I said.