autumn

mist lifts from the river
swirling round the golden rod
and fading into the wild olive trees
as a banshee sneaking beneath the cliffs

clock

morning star to evening star
marks a days toil

hostess of nothing but thoughts

long sweeping gathers at the waist
with rows of tiny pockets running round
for stuffing stones and leaves and feathers
dozens of roses as romantically floral as ever created
drop petal across my skirt flared and long today stitched i

words

in the afternoon of birthdays
and the mornings of life
as curled brown leaves
i hope for springs green

life

light visits as in an attic through a crack in the door
turning dust to stars moments before death
staring across the river quiet and charmingly obtuse
he appeared as
rain drops united with it closest other
the split open by its own weight
ran down the glass in one even corridor
as if she didnt exist

verve

as if an unofficial archaeologies i hunt
in corners upstairs and down and under rocks
for life .....some child in my mind shouts over’s

time

the winds become laugher’s laugh
reducing conversations to the shape of lips
it happens when daydreams are sculptured without words

fortune cookie

long roots moor love to our side
except when wooed away