Fading into White

Stay in silence, stay in whispers,
stay in smoke that lingers
when the evening has burnt down
and the blue hour crumbles in your hand
from paper to ashes;
and just like me
you taste winter in your mouth,
silent, ashen winter,
snow on diary pages
already covered, forgotten,
staying silent to our questions;
so stay in silence as we stand watch
over the fading of today
away into white

The Play Is Over

Behind the veils of fog
the curtain drawn, leaving the stage
dancing down the stairs,
spinning backwards into mist,
bare feet over heather
fleeing to greet the moon
dirt-packed path full of crumbled leaves
the play is over and autumn is here,
no more mask and no more fake smiles,
the play is over and here is midnight,
over the hill, over to the stream
washing away the aftertaste of bitter paint
in the freedom of the wind, revelling
exit the theatre
enter the clouds
cold creeps down the sleeves
unfurling your tattered wings
until you just scream
but break off, melting into the twilight
you are autumn and you are here
you are here
and the play is over
and you are

Drifting Away

Drifting away into wordlessness, into the dark seas, into the high tides, gone in the days and the rain and the books, gone from the coast into cold mind and cold hands, but hidden away in warm blankets, the charming comfort of unrealities, drifting by, drifting away, safely afloat in the depth of the passage of time, careless with thoughts and numb to knowledge, drifting, drifting, like a breath on a cold breeze, far away into the closeness of oblivion, near distant distortions, the present detached from the shore, drifting, drifting, currents pulling the sky into ripples and the moon into waves, drifting away from the eye.

Timeless Travel

‘Round the Moon
and down the slope,
slipping beyond time
when out of reach the grids collide,
the fabric rips, the stars turn dim,
turning off gravity in mirrored rooms;
impossible space of spherical hypercubes
folding like paper wings
into origami universes, manifold,
you fall upwards, back in time
to beginnings unending and empty,
dense with possibility,
rich with void pages,
turning them in scores you read future paths
you could have taken when there was no time,
planets in your hands, unassembled, dust;
backwards, timeless shipyards,
through the places and spaces
where your mind’s transport was born.