FIRST LINES

A scene unspools
A storm came in
After Beltane
All about the sun
And dream of chasing trailing stripes
As this April ends
At dawn, while the city was rising,

Because bokeh holds
By the passage

Earth’s star,
Embracing time and glimpses

Freedom and hope
From Peckham’s Rye Lane
Full of blank scenes

Have changed
Here your remains
How the mist
How the swamp

I plan to pick
I sat at my table
I sink to the floor
I wonder about
I’m all in
If only they’d watch
In this August
Into the night
Is the great conjunction
It must preserve

Let’s break free
Look, passers-by
Lost in the fullness

Of London’s possibilities
Of this city

She channels saints and angels
Sickened by the light
Sirens sound

The day drifts into
The faded garden
The sun
The sun is low
They can be things
Tree spikes cut

We arrived
We look towards living
We love the mystery
What is a new day
While drawn toward
With her sequin scales