The wood-pigeon’s call comes booming in

through every wall of the room I’m in

the bricks dissolve – there’s an open sky

that lets in all of its basal cry

There is no driveway, there is no street

instead stand pines so tall and sweet:

their resinous odour fills my nose

and golden sand lies beneath my toes

my skin even feels the warming sun

in my ears, cries of laughter, oh so fun.

Ten thousand pines stand all around

on dunes that rise up from the ground

and in high branches play squirrels, red

but now of feet have I none, only roots instead

and my arms extended up toward the rays

are fixed now, each of my fingers splayed

and branches and green needles have come

where once golden hairs from my arms were sprung.

Here, then, where I once stood by the forest transfixed

will I now stand forever, in-amongst, betwixt

the ocean’s  raging waves and the hinterland

will I be forever a Pine tree – how grand!

Golden Threads

There is nothing new

For all things are old

Ultimately all

Will turn to gold

For the dust that falls

Down from open skies

All is revealed

As immortal lies

But what of this gold?

What does it consist?

Only ever

Ethereal mist

But with its weave

And distinctive weft

It is best

Forever left

Lest it unravel

Before our eyes

All that remains

Are eternal skies