Locust

At dusk, she works her way into the heart
Of a wind-tilted tree
Bracing her feelers as flesh falls away to bone
Securing to sylvan self

Little Sparta

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

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

Cool and clear / Their voices curve / Through the night air

We walk in / Over water-creases / Across snow-fields

The white houses that hug the hillside by day / Are set adrift in an inverted world by night / Floating, tilted on the lip of the sea

Their optical illusion / Acquires depth / And governs minds

I miss your joy / At tasting the first fruit of each season