Fragments

Observations, sometimes haiku-like, or quick word-sketches, jotted down in a notebook. I once likened such notes to taking bark rubbings of my mind. I always carry a small notebook and pencil everywhere I go. These come from notebooks from the 90s.

*

The October leaves were falling
When we fell in love,
Hunting boletus and chanterelle.

*

And soon, soon
Seized simply
Unloosened
No longer confined
Her long dishevelled hair.

*

I drop her love
For a perfectly good turnip
In the gutter of the market.
Tolerated, another day,
The dust on top of the wardrobe.

*

Sitting on a grave
At midnight.
Shrivelled daffodils
In a vase.
An unmade attic bed.

*

Long grasses
Sway swerve shiver
Hush.
Times it takes
A tawny owl's flight
Passes.

*

Tear-stained cheeks,
A sadness grown old.

*

Sometimes, I am cleansed
By tears that change nothing.

*

Suddenly startled leaf
– a moth.

*

There, on the carpet.
Is it glitter? Is it tinsel?
No, slugs in the night.

*

Down the alley under lamplight
a Red Admiral butterfly suddenly
flutters out of the fog.

*

Drawing something out
– like a long strand of hair
from a slab of butter.

(how a Tibetan draws meaning from a text)

*

Woodsmoke and hash
and sparks in the air.
The stars are alive tonight.

*

Fluttering chalk blue butterflies
seem to tell me not to mind
what was bothering me.

*

The beach sips the ocean in
rescuing baby crabs
from a child's pit.

*

Not yet, not yet,
The herring gulls cry,
Another love comes,
Heart mended
Never to break
No more
No more.

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