There is an unseen tide at play here, just audible when the conversation lulls. At times our words are large and difficult to hold, so like wet stones we let them fall where they will. At this time of year, everything is damp, laced or lapped, saturated or submerged, but without a tide-table I’m left unsure: this water will go out or will follow us home, or will do something else, that much is clear, that much I know.
[Composition] A yellow spray of leaves is framed by the window of a darkened room– after a week of bearing down things open up again, the solvent bank of trees, thin-limbed for miles, the pacific emptiness of an unlit room, stagnant with sleep, strikingly silent, its soft-focus objects slumping toward memory, a row of the same shoes facing the wall– but it’s negative space that draws the eye, these empty vessels can’t distract from an emptier one, […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 