Another Man

This other man is not me
and forever these hands
will be uncalloused and a
rough shelter for a pain

This other man is not me
and forever we land to
sing of fires burned away
wet and cold like the ash

This other man drags me
to you and to the horizon
we wander furrowed and
shivering, together again


Touching arms lead north

where the lights shimmer green and gold.

Under which we sail

for downward turns are guiding.

A moss-lace back; green

and writhing we scuttle forth.

Hands rush to a beat

beneath currents that form our future.

To hasten is to be free and

solitary, without dilemma and dehydrated thought.

Let me go to a foamy crazy

as these undocked knights watch onward.

Ragged Hands

Ragged hands make waves in sodden,
churned water where you stand.

In this place of wonder only birds
can swoop to depose gratitude;

they are hands of a spineless God,
a mobile, wretched in its swathes

of winded wonder. Glass panelled foliage
makes a mockery of horizons

where bears dream up to sticks and
down to stones. A barking ghost

hides in woodland, ever searching for
an encampment to dishevel.

These lands encase every eye rolling
thought and blissful tear, into suds; gone.