In clouds of wood smoke
Under canvas, under stars
I am home again

In clouds of wood smoke
Under canvas, under stars
I am home again
An obsolete tool
Outmoded and outdated
Just like its owner
Isolated I
Settle on the still surface
The water’s clear
Running through twilight
The silver thread of moonlight
Throws shadows half light
Not every question
Has an answer. Not all stars
Shine in the night time
I lay down my tools
Another day fades away
And the dust settles
Shards scatter in chinks
Specks of dust hang in still air
Broken hinges squeak
Happy accidents
Are always much better than
The fruit of labour
Iron under foot
Flint flecks in chalky white streaks
Buried memories
In order to hear
First you must listen, to see
You must start to look