Tuesday, 13 June 2017


Now, I love less than before.
It's the only way.
I shape-shift into a stranger,
Lonely as an unthread needle.

I hold back my body,
Not quite dead.
Offer tiny crumbs of myself,
Enough for the birds.

My heart wears a glove.
A pulse in silk,
And like a lady,
I remove one finger at a time.

My body rests in a beehive
Where workers swarm,
Company for a fallen queen,
Sweetless as a conquered kingdom.

And when I dance, it's with myself, 
Hurricane feet and dervish hips,
Whirling to my string and bow. 
A fury of song. 

I am harnessed like a horse
Gripping reigns, afraid to gallop
to that place where love takes over, 
Full and splendid,
A tangled mess unwinding
Always to a darkened room

I am a pilgrim travelling slowly,
A changeling in flowers,
Stopping where the kindness is,
Avoiding strangers and the woman
I once was; feckless, proud,
as open as unknowing.

I am an infidel to love,
Hardly here,
Confined to seeking.
Hiding what is left. 


  1. This poem hit my heart with the thunder of a thousand skies, the weight of a hundred years lived in a hundred past lives. Your soul shines bright, and beaming.