Centuries

Moulding tides, casting waves,
work, abrade coarse rock
to rounded pebbles.

I pick one and skim
centuries across the surface.

Whitecaps

I know whitecaps,
night skies splintered
white with lightning.

Imagine: amongst the thrash
a keel splitting waves,
the full-bellied sail.

Lost

nothing here
reminds

jagged rocks
skirt cliffs
to no exact

crows hem
headland

snow melts
on touch

I admit. I am lost.

Molten

the streams
turned molten
metal in moonlight,
flowing across
the forest floor
like fingers
of lightning
out to grasp
or greet

Piano

she stops at the piano
in the antique store

plays a chord
from memory

and then another

she smiles

“The rest
I can’t
remember.”

Fleeting

they pass

quickly

galloping
horses of
cremello,
grey

their hooves
hitting concrete

hollow
heavy

as if
life was

fleeting

Rain

it was hard rain

the sort to pattern
pools in mud

to softly
dimple sand

to thrash a lake
in fierce spray,
ripples
and splash

Hike

A brutal hike
each step of
sweat, ache,
throb,
though from afar
it’s a beautiful path,
a ribboned
mud route
slashed in
mountainside

Burden

our old apple tree

burdened with
the weight of
Bramleys

hangs a branch low

offering the ripest
for our taste

for some relief

Spill

I try to write these
poems

have them abide
thoughts

but sometimes

I let them rebel,
I let them flow

and spill
where
they
must