Now, for me, the cycle of church seasons is replaced by the rhythms of birds – not just the beat of wings measured or contrapuntal notes of song but the

There was no choice about it–improbable degrees of maybe, no way the many why’s could definitely mean what I was sure they had. Without a doubt, I doubted the wrong

spoilt by soft-touch electronics even on a mechanical qwerty brain jams, keys stick/ fingers clumsied by the heavy push of levers   but how full of possibilities is the slow

She’s tidying the grandkids’ room shifting the red Lego box cleaning up the constellations of racing cars, glitter, hankies lifting the scruffy teddies back onto pillows, making room for the

(A response to Wislawa Szymborska’s ‘Soul’) Soul lends time for keeps usually steps out wherever conversations form sometimes settles in for a year without shoes rarely participates when crowds mirror

There is no key to my father’s lock he was made of reinforcing steel and recycled refrigerator racks welded into a portcullis for the chooks, made of jars of screws