Always the broken glass
The chipped glass, the imperfect one
This is the one I pick
I had grown tired of drinking whiskey from metal field cups
I treated myself to crystal, four solid glasses, simple in design but reminding me of our old houses.
Now one is chipped.
This is the one I use always
Can’t give it to guests
Can’t bear to throw it out
I let it live another day.

Little purple fleurs –
Dotted low across the lawn ~
Survive my mowing. 


Hyacinth bouquet –
Rolling scent, rolling thunder ~
Caressing senses.

Awoken at dawn –

Dun dove on my windowsill ~

Bearing a message.

 

For Edmond Sheeran.

Ocean to mountain –

Now a riverside pathway ~

Folding space and time.

One hour from the strip –
More meaning in one crossbed ~
The Valley of Fire. 

Morning beam of light –
Penetrating the canyon ~
Lugh stroking Danú. 

Your dark gaping maw –
Ten meters from where I sleep ~
Dreaming of Deep Time.

A smile costs nothing ~
Leaving the office today ~
The cleaner, the guard. 

A school of brown rays –
Gathered and mating densely ~
Leaves in the ocean.

 

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