collection, Island Sisters, 2005,
The Redlake Press,
ISBN 1 870019 21 0
is eggshell light, a daughter day
all our days and time at first making.
the horizonís stately curve, the sun
to old rhythms, climbs an airy
of gold and pulls down night.
island empties in a white mirage.
turn to look, undaunted by old grief.
crosses radiate down to the sea,
dip and float in wayside tides,
wave among the drowning flowers.
distant sea wind echoes the last post
me of all thatís gone before.
finger prints are etched into my heart
as graffiti and sometimes
holy book, a slow calligraphy
minute architecture holds a sense
and yet its beauty makes a whole
all lifeís tragedy and transience.
dead are never lost, they are a part
though apart. Death is a pause,
silent ground from where a pulse uncoils
spirals into green to touch the hand
heart of living things. So death stores life,
it fragility and form.
head due north, the wind swings in my sails.
I learned, a pilgrim outward bound,
guard in secret like a talisman.
when nightís violet waves leap up like whales
the stars, and I am overwhelmed,
wings protect me in my disbelief.