It's like
standing at the top
of a cliff

from all directions
wind whips
hairline patterns
across my face

between
grey and blue
waves gather-

spread
break
wash up silent stones
fractured shells

with the last box sealed
I stare
swallow

that sentimental lump
in my throat.

She breaks into your night
like a scarf of rain
slips the mountain-
shakes the wind from her hair
allowing the colours of heaven
to fall on your floor.

Her spirit
edged to the moon
dances rainbow kisses
around your faded heart-
whispered love
falls like starlit blossom
into a wishing well.

You waited with Fire
I arrived with Air-
the day was summer
but I had come wrapped

nervous, excited,
I watched you move uneasy
too, this was new, unknown
and we searched for a shared beginning.

The sun was hot
we sat outside-
you offered me your red shorts
not watching as I changed.

Trees swayed in the gentle breeze, symbiotic
and you asked me if I liked trees.
It made me laugh, that question
and you brought a book from your shelf

that told of the messages
trees bring-
we looked at pictures
I read aloud some words

you leaned over my shoulder-
as I turned the pages
I could smell the fragrance
of burning wood.

You told me about
the forest in Glen Affric
how you'd slept in an old bothy at night
and helped plant trees in the day.

I listened to your voice, hypnotic-
the wind laced pollen in my hair
as nature's healing spirits arrowed
magic spells that fanned the warm air.

We never really slept-
just buried clocks
in the sanctuary
of night

every time I moved
you moved with me
winged eyelashes
on your cheek returns a kiss

small spaces of silence
in between borrowed breaths
arms tighten
at the whisper of a name

all the words of the heart
the unanswered questions
are at this moment
blue rolling waves

tonight our souls rest
fragrant in spiritual essence
candle-flamed, undamaged
utterly belonging.

Somewhere between sunshine
and rain
where the rustling tendrils
of Autumn leaves
tease the whispering wind
we meet.

We are silent
our shadows dark against the past
afraid of Leyden jar
expressions, excuses
we circumvent the charnel house of lost love.

Two hooded crows
guard the wishing well
the skulking moon appears

And I remember
your eyes and lips were planets
that left me breathless

Old longings
suffuse the crevices of night.

I pause-
my silver pockets tarnished
pebble-dashed
by shrapnel led dreams.

Frankincense burned
as we shaped the night
with angel cards
words tumbled to perfection
R.E.M. played out dreams
we talked in hours
beyond the shadow of a door
a lifetime latched.

You snared me
gypsy-eyed
with your laughter
and jewelled tongue
adorning words
telling tales
of druids and trees.

With you there were no nightmares,
only spirited streams,
bewitching woodland, your voice
which haunts me still.

I picture your hands-
the slight smallness
of them,
practised in the art of juggling
pots and pans
in a bothy of a kitchen.

I was your coadjutrix,
invigorated by the music,
the smells,
the ingredients.

You fed me titbits
from your lissom fingers-
pleasurable morsels
of skulduggery

we danced round coffee stains
till midnight struck.

Another time
another place
I will wear your shirt,
the black one with the mad flowers
and you will
unbutton each button-
I picture your hands.

Like a deep blue wave
of passion
you shore into the room
where I sit waiting quietly,
open-booked.

We have moved through days,
loss, pain
to hold this moment,
this picture postcard seascape
of gentle harbouring.

You say
'I knew you were here
I could smell you'
and effortlessly I sway
to seal my fate.

You taste of ocean,
avenues of grassy dunes,
like a magician
you pluck a tiny pebble
from my hair-

Ancient survivor, sun-kissed
on this summer afternoon,
unconditionally
I step out of my dress
into your dream.

For years my mother
polished brass and wood in church,
her tiny hands performing miracles
on a daily basis

During school holidays
or sometimes on a Saturday
I shared her working day

At first I was afraid
of empty pews and pulpit,
silent saints on stained glass
or marbled, staring back at me

A room full of vestments
threaded red, gold and purple-
outfits for any occasion

My mum's voice like a prayer
would call out
to fetch more polish or a clean duster

It was as holy to me
as any hymn,
her smile circling every corner

Now when I go to church
and it isn't often,
I look at the shiny candleholders,
smell the beeswax mixed with frankincense

I hear the sound
of my mother singing
and light a candle
giving thanks.

Charred clouds smoke
the evening sky
air begins to cool
around our feet

the hippies dance
like fireflies
scissoring the streets
spinning smiles

and I float
on summer love
that ripples my heart
and roots me to you.