Breathe
calm the breath
the ocean will calm
breath gathers itself in a comma
a comma informs the current
weaves panic into water
so calm will curl the rising wave
red as dusk settling
this sun drownedlonely in the chest
whose white sand will purple later
night so soon will wear
the wound I wearthe panting wave
breathe hard
breathe quickly
breath in me singsmy lungs
the ocean surface in unblessed rage
scavenging lullabies
gullswings darken at tips
plunge in shadow the day
opening into a ripple
gathering in panicthis breath
to rise from water
the scarlet ocean at dusk
furious before it calms
and cloaks soft that breath
the indestructible work of breath
in my mouth as in yours
This is the dream
to hold the light
as birds enter into it
fillet the sky to fine bones
to lose myself in the air
we breathe for each other
a thumb-width above the sea
to ride the current
away from this harbour
under morning's blue fingertips
to touch every shore at the same time
White Crane
Only weeks ago, two of them.
Each standing on one leg
side by side.
Now, day after day, just one
comes to stand
by the river
and at night returns
to the nearby sports-field
to stand alone until dawn.
The river is not a place
of daydreams
and not for mourning.
For the crane
and cormorant
it's a place to catch fish.
Try to mourn here
and you'll soon be carried off.
Daydreams, friends
drift all one way -
the river has no breath in it
but it ripples.
What the heron knows
is it takes effort
to stand still
silence is an elegy
for the dying light
and each breath
is a prayer
for those who move
along the stuttering
whiteness of flood-lit asphalt
away from the savannahs
of our origin
those smooth, descending
pastures to the sea.
