Rain and fire


When rain falls a (grey) veil

from a sombre sky

where no (light) strikes sparks

of fire from poppy (and) rose

(I sink) to the level of mud and sodden grass

poke fingers (in) the loosening clay

to feel life (writhing) beneath

and deeper still

the fiery (veins of) the earth’s (blood)


Cold seeds salamander-coddled

need (no hope) in tomorrow

to burst (in) green sappy stalks

leaf and flower-furled.

(Stars) wheel

fire calls to fire and the tides shift moon-struck.

Between fire and (falling) rain I wait

with the patience of a seed

for the wheel to turn to sunburst.


Painting by Evelyn de Morgan


Though I pull the sheets of night about me,

nothing stops the (waking),

the ending of dreams,

the fall in(to the) glare of day.

The spool slips,

and the (slow) motion of the stars ceases.

No (butter)-light can sooth the loss,

soften the (slide) from the floating free (of) darkness

to the brash, brittle chains of (sunlight)

that scratch a bitter reality (through) dream space,

(painted) all the colours of the stars.

No (trees) bending in a subtle wind

changes the (knowing) that my feet are rooted to the earth

and I can no longer find the path that winds about the moon.

No (clouds) pinned cotton-soft on a blue canvas

(are) worth the (waiting) for sleep

(and the) swallowing of the (pitiless) sun

by the sacred (night).

Winter and summer gone

Another all-in-one cleave-style poem.


Scent of pine and cicadas singing,

(you) always say (are) summer’s essence,

with winter (gone)

in a cascade of open blossom

(and) unfurled leaf.

These moments beneath (a) throbbing sky,

we keep for when the (north) rolls down,

as it will,

these memories of soft west (wind)

that (blows) gentle over city hills.

We walk (through) gardens

scented with thyme and origano

as sun sets,

colour of (the) desert beyond the sea,

our arms, once (empty), full

of flowers to bedeck the (halls) and windows

(of) this place where I have made (my) home

and given my (heart).