Dark glasses in the sun hiding blindness
I’ve been running ahead while looking back
collecting silent clues
I’m becoming a butterfly amongst the bees
as I find my way
down the dark passage
of singing shells
Finding a winter rhythm this year is a bit like being in a jerky elevator…..best laid plans, just get to the floor and open the door. The words coming slow in a weathered suspension, collecting clues from poems becoming puzzles….meaning pivoting on just one word … the rhythm finding me in a slow molasses changing well- engrained routines, unsettling boundaries used to the intimacies of osmosis.