Tuesday, 25 January 2011


One thing I have learned - the way back is always easier.


Everyone finds somewhere to fit.


The woman is born
Somewhere in the sea
She sleeps till the tides rest
And shudders in her dream
Like roots in winter

In a world where she falls like rain
And breaks in puddles
She takes the stars
In her eye
And casts them into the water

The woman breathes, and
Her voice and soul are silent
And her silence speaks in tears.
Nothing illuminates this heart
And her body made in silver.

Sheltered in her breast
Is a thirst or a word
A question and a bruise
A flame and many wings.

The woman is the sea
That speaks with her eyes
Submerging forgotten cities in your mind
She listens and overflows and speaks in waves.
Birthed into form by storm, sky and heat
Of the sun
She washes and summons
Your ear to the wind
To watch, to nurse your trembling fire
From where words will begin.