For you

Writing words
as if they could touch you.
As if a sentence
were my arm outstretched,
my words – my fingers –
go through your hair.
A Full stop – a kiss,
a comma – a breath
that we breathed together.
This could not exist
within me
without you.
The twisted silver lining
of the aching heart is this –
after all of this
I still have my words;
you are still my meaning.

Thus spoke the thunder

Imagine that there were
no words
on this page at all,
just thunderous silence.
A blankness
with which you would
be reflected.
Don’t see these words,
see the lines between,
the gaps, chasms,
without which they would not
We are all spaces
between people,
between planets,
between universes,
between ideologies.
Remember that between
is the place to be
don’t you know
when the rhythm is slow
you can better hear
the beat
music is
after all
the silences
in between.


Somewhere inside me
is the past-tense
of an empty tea cup
and a novel with a broken spine.
Ants circle the rim,
crawl across the pages
in a search for nourishment
different from my own.
Words arranged like music
are a tome of silence
that smells sweetly
of years on a sunned shelf
where the dust,
from the big bang
nestles itself
on its own creation.
And I find
the ants and I
aren’t so different after all