Midnight Garden

I’m in the wood now,

by the moon mirror,

the still, black pond.

No leaves sway

on sentinel trees

this warm, windless night.

Jasmine scents,

a sleeping swan

the same colour as the moon,

her head tucked

under feathers.

I am the only one moving.

I shift upon a flat rock,

my fingers brush a fern.

I come here to be

nobody,

a swan, the moon, a feather.

I would stay forever.

Soon I will hear the cries

of the other world,

the changing world,

and I will go back to

soothe, inspire, mother.

Until then, I rest

out of time.

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Born to Water

Maybe we were
born to water

and with new arms
and legs,
newborn-blind,
we climbed onto
the river’s shore

maybe the land
claimed us,
reeds and grasses
bound our ankles
and gave us
names

maybe swimming
in the currents
in the deepest eddys
are strange fish
like us

maybe the water is
both calmer
and deeper
than we think

so we could not
stand if we entered
nor breathe though

maybe if we jumped now
we’d remember who we were
just at that moment
of birth

maybe then we’d swim
to the bottom
and touch home.

Travelling

I left my
shoes in Milwaukie
a scarf
in Sudan

in London
I discovered
a prawn allergy
and in Paris
I ate five
croissants.

I am now on a bus
hurtling through
fields
it could be England
and it could be Illinois

field and sky

I bought shoes
and a scarf
and vegetarian lunch
before boarding

Does it matter
where I am going?

field and sky

me

don’t have
names
anyway.