it came in the night
driving and thick
a vertical virtual
wall of precipi…
tation
–
wind rumples
through the eves
crunkling the cardboard
taped to my ceiling
“spielkiste”
from the last time
–
my spiders watch
from the opposite corner
of the room
their spindly legs
like stripped
upside down
umbrellas
–
dehumidifier hums
on 80%
carpets
still feel damp
–
the rains are here again
Photo by Anna Atkins on Unsplash
hold the wind in my arms
ghost trees toss
their shrouds of
pale cloth
while wave-feathers trail
white-peacock fringes
behind surges
irreparable
over rocks
as my tin-can heart
soaks up
songs from
half-forgotten harmonicas
I’m poised
a broken-bevel jewel
seeking kintsugi
to gild old scars
kintsugi is the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with strands of gold lacquer
Photo: Claire Doble
I learnt permanence from the beach
the way the sand never shifted
and the dunes stood still
a dead spike-backed fish
forever there, the arcs of tides
ancient and fixed
I learnt love from the sea
constant, predictable
ever reliable
turn your back, nothing happens
risk free
and the rocks, so orderly
I learnt life from the wind
always that solid blue
careful, unchanged
no cloud-claw wisps
nor breeze-tossed leaf
to mar my view
breathe in
still
lungs of leaves
silvered
with sun
soft fall
of green
mosses massed and
still
breathe in
crescent of yellow
flowers
sit elegant
still
sudden gust
flap-panic
wild, wild, wild
thrashing, headbanging
supraaural tunes
dinosaur dancefloor
wind, wind, wind
breathe in
still
Photo: Claire Doble
listen to the wind
restless, tepid, tossed free
the babble of summer parties
floats by
I
throw myself like a fishing line
into darkness and back, back
in time to back-lane bins and jasmine
scented evenings
encasing friends
warm drunkeness
bottoms dimpled by
milk crate imprints and the tiny
gravel of old cement
crumbing bare feet
swished aside
long cotton skirts
eyes glance up
that window high
mine
that window high
eyes glance up
long cotton skirts
swished aside
crumbing bare feet
gravel of old cement
milk crate imprints and tiny
bottoms dimpled by
warm drunkenness
encasing friends
scented evenings
in time to back-lane bins and jasmine
into darkness and back, back
throw myself like a fishing line
I
float by
the babble of summer parties
restless, tepid, tossed free
listen to the wind
clairevetica 