To which distant lands

Do you soar and sail and fight

Through the roaring wind?

My joints ache and groan

I’m a heap of broken bones

My heart turns to stone

Where will whipping winds

Drive us on billowing sails?

When will this ship land?

Whether gold or grey

In the east, in the morning

The same sun will rise

Weaving with the mulch

Transforming death into life

Myceliously

Though I reach upward

Trying to exceed my grasp

I remain grounded

They can’t hide behind

The overgrown waterways

Industrial eyes

Crawl inside myself

Words can do no harm if I

Keep them in this cave

Am I the grey cloud

Or the azure atmosphere

Shimmering beyond?

What lurks beneath

The murk and the mouldy leaves?

I see only sky

As the morning blooms

We ravel and unravel

Open to the sun

Fight against the clock

Race the ever pressing tide

Holding back the sand

The things you expect

Twist and turn and bind like chains

And become regret

Questions hang mid stream

Will I wake up from this dream?

Who is on my team?

While rain lashes down

Feet sink in the quaggy mire

Water getting higher

I am broken bones

As I fall I turn to loam

I remain a home

Frost grips like a vice

Steel is forged from fire and ice

Fear and pride both spliced

In the borderlands

Last of the summer decays

Gold to silver grey

Each thread twists and loops

Hoops embrace frenetic wings

Lines mesh and lives move

I am moil and dirt

The mould and the claggy curse

I am soil and earth

Last drops of summer

Seep into bulbous apples

Then rot in the grass