For All That It Was

Collapsed, unconscious and calm.

Detached and alone in the perfect light.

Concealed from the tireless crowd.

. . . . .

The contemplative eyes, having studied it on bended knee, 

find an outlet in the tranquility of its stance, in its delicate lines.

Its tender colour – rich and alive and so ardently venerated.


. . . . .


Yet further on, details of its recovery cannot be envisioned.

As If By Plan

An import,

its plumage twirling –

clumps and strands

of something.

. . . . .

Then it was,

she thought,

finished.

. . . . .

It is

all there was.

The Aurora Of Mind

a temporary language

            as temporary things

            and poetry the

                              math…of

                                  everyday

                                     life

                                                             what time

                          Of the day is it

– Larry Eigner

Colouring The Midnight Air

It begins with a steady impulse

to want to speak something 

of the indelible influences 

linked to and hedged in against

the structure or the nature of things, 

even though the things we believe 

we see objectively may not 

necessarily be the things we are

immanently conscious of.

Eleven Fifteen AM

A louder voice

breaks its silence,

casts its shaded light

quietly outside –

somewhere where

it is 11:15 am,
voices carry.