Little Sparta

Among the stones, inscriptions For drowned ships and fallen leaders, Stands of alder and of birch The frozen souls of…


I miss you, here, now. /
As your voice, telling stories, /
Murmurs through the pine trees /
And the red squirrels chatter overhead.

Father’s Day

I spent the day building the girls a tree house With a neighbour who is much more that way minded…


In honour of this liquid creature / Who twists between worlds / Blending shadow and light