Thursday 3 January 2013

Wednesday 2 January 2013

Mid-Afternoon



Voices murmur in the next room. Soft vowels fuse into warm streams that meld with the sluggish tick of the clock. Daydreaming, I lean against the smooth wall, feel the vibration of words through stone. A litany; a prayer.


Tuesday 1 January 2013

Along the way


A crossroads
and, to the north,
a narrow dirt track, where boot and hoof have made their mark over
centuries.
Above
the canopy whispers secrets of the long gone, their voices whipped away
by the wind.
I tread where they once trod, feel the memory of their footfall;
the path a palimpsest,
where my own boot makes its
mark.