A date in America

Mine turn to take your
Satyr Dane tazer party
You see, it's like
A long fish washing itself
In grazing waters
At least lore is
Fresher than wishes
Wintry apt witches
Clinging to singles
Out of range
Shingles
Separate epsilon

Cornered, yet happy

Holy mother of grotesque forms, whose hair cascades over the rocks, and meanders through waiting grasses, bending to the rhythm of your breathing. The jagged peaks, the forlorn clouds, the whispers and rumours of storms that disappoint, the call of the raven, the ravenous liaisons of wolves in the moor, all have your blessing and eternal guidance. The knobby-kneed tree with its twists, and awkward skyward dances, is the flower that crowns your head. and I lie in waiting, for the day when you share the light with beauty and its silliness.