Fading Memories

The rain falls
my lips soften

Slowly
I remember
to breathe

Waiting
for my world to stop
and the sun to rise

fading
memories

like ripples
in your pond
before it freezes
for winter

Blackbird

There is a baby
blackbird
chirping
just
outside my
bedroom window

It is early
Sunday morning

thin grey light
illuminates
my white curtains

Only The Spaniel
and I are awake
and the baby bird
singing
for breakfast

A hush
settles
over everything
like dust

There is a
quiet
emptiness
about
every
Sunday morning

Sunday Morning Coming Down

which is a song
about hangovers
about living fast
and hard

These days
I’m hungover
on Life
on Death
on the Unknowable

while the quiet
seeps into my heart
filling my chest

and with it
a kind of peace

I wasn’t expecting that

Sleeping Adventures

When I begin

to think
My dreams
have been lost
I lean out my window

Let the scent
of the flowers
in my room
mingle with the magic
of the the flowing river
and the purple heather
in the distance.

Surely this is
the stuff
dreams are made of.

And even when
I open my eyes
to find I am
still in my bed
in a small room
without a view
without the heather
without the river
I know my dreams
are alive and well
and living in my heart
and my sleeping adventures.