I.
its lily tide washes this strand of sorrows,
lulled to quiet by solitude
the spray whispers secrets at my window, as
shades of mind wrestle together in the drapes,
for common property, spread carelessly for all
like a feast for gulls
watch them pick the bones clean, as Time’s white skull
breaks in hollow grin
but my thoughts alone are mine
II.
like a starved child, ashen and ragged and sore,
I sense the wandering pangs of the ravenous night
as it slinks, slavering,
amongst the dying embers on the horizon, and
in the wolfish corners of this house,
this temple of unfinished beginnings,
and of dawn and dusk
III.
let me revel in the violent gale of transformations
let me make my home in the wind
my feet will leave no record in the pale waves
they shall not slip, while I strive with lies and milky illusions –
those gross mirrors of dreams -
flashing, twisting high in their silken arms of steel
their hold will melt, when this uncertain light fades,
and the face of the moon, or the sun, perhaps,
will silver this silk to flame
but now is twilight, and the hour of shadows of being
the moment to savour, to shape, and to become