Whenever I Go To The Coast

Whenever I Go To The Coast

The glare of the afternoon sun

caught sight of your hands

as they grazed my skin,

lightly committed lines leaving traces

like sand grains, sprinkled thinly into glistening patterns

where our dry backs meet the ocean

and gave in to melting.

What I mean to say

is that I cherish these soft days

where souls are christened with sea salt

and float atop peace waves,

where healing is a boat

that casts out its anchor

on the beach shores of our suffering,

nets spread tenderly with intentions

to carry the load off my mind.

Groundwork

Groundwork

I would like to rely a little more on myself

and not see hope as a chore,

like eating healthy or being kind to my anxiety,

something other than just coping

when lack of sleep slides into the bed beside me

and swears he’s the only intimacy I’m worth.

Can I place a hand over where it hurts,

yours or mine, or both together,

allow scars to touch bare skin

without lying about their origin,

my longings and wishful thinkings,

mistakes and misplaced trust.

Of the things I find hard to accept,

the most difficult is knowing

how the next steps require

I must let go of them all.

Brainwork

Brainwork

Meandering around the back alleys of my brain

the dark accentuates the corners and amplifies the space

left for the odd socks, neglected ideas

like pennies that drop out your pocket,

falling between the car seat and the door,

the lost and found fashion of mismatched PE kit

and school pumps that stick to the gym floor.

The cleaners don’t come here, dust lies so thick

I could make a snow angel with it,

constricting rusty daydreams of the place’s potential

like an amateur home improvements TV show.

Being alone is not the same as being lonely

and though the air here tastes stale,

it’s comforting to be away from the restless nerves

my body becomes a slave to, under pressure

to play the game, this world’s trivial pursuits.

I think I’ll visit myself more often, being back some food

for the frightened mice who find solace

in this hideout too, maybe we’ll share a picnic,

finally sit across from our fears

and talk until we forget

which of us was taming who.

Here Lies Grace

Here Lies Grace

I woke up this morning and sensed the air

mingle with the spaces between my fingers,

the weight of your absence

like a twenty pound blanket I sometimes carry

as extra skin

when I long to feel less fragile

and more oxytocin, more real

and less repellent.

I round up my knees

to cradle the present,

give it the human touch it needs

in moments of discomfort so quiet

that I hear the birds outside my window

breathe in faintest echos

like the words my lips speak silently

across an empty pillow.

Towards A Theory Of Absolute Uncertainty

Towards A Theory Of Absolute Uncertainty

The first thing you notice

is how hard it feels to sit with a restless spirit,

agitated by all the ways you’ve avoided gazing

at missed connections,

professing a non-attachment to introspection

that instead increases its need,

a pretence of patch work through which

your soul bleeds for authenticity.

Underneath this cover lies your bundle of energy,

bravely waiting for you to acknowledge its truth

and set out on this journey, one that

some will refuse, fearful of their own power

and its potential, but not you,

the you who has always known of kinetic flow,

the you who comes from the earth,

made from the same molecules as a pile of dirt,

each handful worth its weight in diamonds

for simply becoming, before then building

each beautiful view

and the sounds that surround them.

Your love is a work of art in motion,

each movement a choice of devotion

or selfish gain

and only by digging deeper than the surface

can the heart hear what needs to change.

This is the work of the dreamers,

those intimate with wilderness,

so at peace with the untamed

they’ve felt every natural disaster,

slept with the creators of war and human chains

yet still give birth to present moment

after present moment

and pronounce it sacred.

Communion

Communion

Today is for the realigning of bare bones,

edges exposed,

every crack blessed with drops of holy water

for how else would I honour

the body of a Goddess.

Trace my fingertips over this skin

with the tenderness of a lover

whose touch was gone too long

but right on time to hold these hands as they sleep,

only letting go to wipe tears from her cheek.

Then, wake her up gently,

magic cast in the whispers of morning breath,

planting kisses on the back of her neck

where pulse meets electricity

and calls it healing energy,

calls it what I need,

when I stopped waiting for a reminder

of my trauma

to leak love back into capillaries

and find a daily practice

to map its journey through my blood stream.

We answer our own prayers.

Equilibrium in Motion

Equilibrium in Motion

This is not a war

and there is no you outside yourself

to fight.

It’s just the passage of thoughts

and fleeting feelings,

laying themselves to rest for awhile

inside an impermanent body,

which you also inhabit

as an everlasting spirit.

Part of being

is life becoming,

all in this together,

and nothing in nature is exempt from this change.

So notice how we change with you,

refined for our next revolution,

even the rivers and streams have currents.