
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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