outside

i don't know who
i am
or where it is from which i came.

all that i know is
that i
recognise
your
soft voice,

like a shetland pony

on an old
and windswept moor-
dancing in the rugged
outside

holding
only
a
battered
wooden drum.

'On spirals'

stars fall over the edge of your cupped hands
and land
in the centre of my universe
(which is dressed up as a lace doily).
all day
my kitchen
is
twinkly
and
cartesian.

disguise

sometimes
she is just a girl
wearing a horse mask
and trying to play
the cello;
underwater.

learning to swim

in the dream i am learning to swim and the water is icy cold.

i think of a woman who walked out into the water and what it meant for her when a bird sang.
there is a salvation army marching band and i wear a cream dress.

i don't want to hear that trumpet any longer.

i owned a glockenspiel once, and held it.

the night sky lies down and spreads out its heart for all to see,
empty, infinite, broken.
the stars play out a harmony of longing; bewilderment.

the autumn will merely happen, out loud
and your ways will still be misunderstood.

you are a song that children once played
to the sound of small bells.

The horse

Sometimes horses teach us to swim.
And that is beautiful and oh-so real.
And they speak a language that sparkles
and then you can't see the lake any more.
But you don't have to be scared.
There is a magic that is shared only by a horse
and a lake
when the sun starts to set,
in september.

biographies

and then she said that she had started to see colours that never existed. in shapes that she had strung together on an old banjo and played into the early morning. she had greeted the grey and sullen city sky with their lack of being in a nonchalent way. she had played it out, again and again and she twirled out kaleidoscopic images to the gleam of a cracked and dirty mirror.

" We are all just broken pieces of a frozen lake but without any colours that are real. "

she said her hands were cold and that she wanted to go home. she told them that there had used to be a tree here, a long time ago and that it had something to do with a philosopher and some dream.
she listened and she cared but then she just closed her eyes and they were right.

it is always yellow when you close your eyes in the past.