What do we say to barriers
or wounds, that we descend along them?

What do we say to the other side
the sun and moon we do not see?

What of this tide, the thoughts in any tide
making minutes in the gauge, traces in the grain?

The passage of water in concentration
a meditation on the wave, without it no shore or skin.

It makes and moves the heart vessel
and every rocky boat.

Side by side we are rising –
chest, rib, ventricle, moon feather, branch, plinth

fall, returning stream, arrow, light, dark pulse
carbon, membrane, light in light, wave and wound.


Popular Posts

Questions, but no answers: while editing a manuscript

Viva the Real - shortlisted!

‘The fast fold of fret lines’: Intimacy, ecopoetics, and the local