North, Grey

North is grey and the night is green behind the lidless eyes of trees closing their leafen hands around the time of owls, waiting for the mountains to sigh morning in paler grey, to sing the streams of pale morning sun through the top of broken crests, the crowns of regal history now reigned by badgers and hungry foxes eating the crumbling stars;

North is clouds full of all the blankets you ever lost on the train and in tumble dryers, heavy as old kettles and iron grated stove tops, filled with wind and the remains of castles made from last year’s bread where mice dream through winter in kitchen drawers, one ear twitching to the song of moon dogs and snow suns, crackling in old bones stretching with the dark hours towards thawing ships;

North is all that is marsh lands and ferries cold as wild geese screaming in the wee hours, all that is flat and sea and then the high cliffs lost in the distance, following arrows of migrating birds into spring some days, when the mice-dreaming is done and the grey shifts from steel to warmer tones, hollow reeds keeping their last cold breath for one more day.

From Deepest Space

In the deepest depths
of the most remote corners of space
in cold slipstreams
and the blaze of solar eruptions
mysteries thrive;

And from the deepest depths
of the strangest ocean moons
in rogue orbits
and beneath razor-sharp glaciers
there flow signals still undecoded,
save for one line:

Here grow flowers, come see them.

Silvery Songs

Songs, songs, silvery stars
in the canopy of trees above
songs, songs, Saturnal rings
around the hills and mountain heads
songs, songs, sounds in the dark
haloes of sparkle and dust and
songs, songs, winding streams
of bluest time, nocturnal tides of
songs, songs, silvery songs.

Winter Forest

You glue your eyes shut with resin
and tie your tongue around the trunk
of the fir haunting your dreams
of twisting your arms into knots
with branches and needles and snow
as winter crackles with burning cold
in the logs grown through your chest
until you are the forest
and you burn your nostrils on the smoke
of exhaling as much winter fragrance
as you can share.

Here Be Monsters Now

Untethered ships
and unbridled cloudy horses
racing for the end of days
lost to land and cartographers
terra incognita
stolen away by steam and shadow

sharing blank spaces
on the maps aboard whalers
one step unto firm ground
breaking thin ice

here be monsters now

Worlds Beyond

Ask the stars for golden stairs
to scale the silver mountain moon
the gemstone sky: obsidian
and many worlds beyond

in willow trees,
in old town streets,
in lanterns’ puddling light

in pocket depths,
in rocket launch,
in all that’s dark and bright.