I say your name in whispers, breathlessly the letters unfold and all the while you create light that punctures shadows. Descriptive you, building visions always, deepest tones that make me ache.

Focused, fixed, engrossed, this feeling you bring, I wait in all of these rooms that you build. Rooms where flowers grow and arms embrace, I write the visions that you evoke in me. I long to continue.

Calmness you bring in abundance here. The thread unraveling inside my heart, infinite as the oceans. Its beginning is lost in tides of time, but it flows through all of these lines.

I sat with history in my palm, the outline of the titles raised text against my fingers. The spine bound without a crease and in this pause I remain. I’ve written pages of words, descriptive insights of feelings past and repetition can’t explain what I feel for you.

It wasn’t in an instant that you became the waters down the mountainside, your presence in my mind defines this. How you flow now, like mist rising, like moonlight through the woodland canopy.

You are these pages, stories that unfold when you speak, the narrator on the path between the horizon and my heart.

I thought him graceful in a time long since past. Ribbons of light etched on the horizon, his gracefulness remains. He conjures chasms painted with glacier azures.

I am bound to his words, his void filling light.

These fragile steps are just moments between my heartbeats and the silence that fills my soul is yours. You hold your breath and as I stumble you remain at my side, graceful, strong, stalwart.

I get lost when I think of you, when we touch, in those moments those long breathless pauses I am what all of my instincts tell me to be. I am love, I am hunger, I am patience..

Romance, curvaceous lines traced with the eyes alone. All around focus fades, for the sky there is only the knowledge that it exists. For you are but a whisper that somehow took hold, like the first flush of paint on a canvas, fluid still.

To hold a gaze, to take that moment with you. Not a glance, not a passing look, but that thrill when eyes seem to merge. Intimate, like a soul bared and captivation shared. I wonder what lies between the gaze, if thoughts are suspended there, masterpieces of unspoken words, unwritten pages.



I am all eyes and you are all wonder. I am of caution, but not of your making. This landscape of my heart, its trenches and scars in need of repair, jaded not dead.

You are still waters a tapestry of depth, not obvious, not incessant. Each strand interwoven, each vein a path to your soul.

You are shelter from the heat, like the coolest chapel walls, the light on the horizon when I am surrounded by the darkest skies.



I am approaching thresholds and you meet me halfway. You’re the stranger I struggled to see, but as you stand in the doorway I can see nothing else

Are the joys we hold nothing more than transactions, are we there yet? Are these roots ours, did we mistake life as ownership. Is the river flowing, did the branches drop seeds at dusk, did the sun still rise and fall? Was your train delayed, did you complain? Did you fill out forms, tick the relevant boxes, did it rain? Is your neighbour ok, are the children hungry? Did your parcel arrive on time? Will the shelter of oaks ease my mind, will they give and keep giving, will wildflowers sustain when the pollinators fall. Are we there yet. Does the tide move your soul, unscripted as it is, does an actor have to explain all the things you can’t feel. Did you see the sky last night? Did the stars captivate your gaze, did you flick that switch? It killed the light. Are your grades all that define you, you wear them so well. A glowing reference on your way to the top. Does your office have a view? Do you?  Silence, isn’t it beautiful. How it sits beside me like an old friend lost for words. Humbled, I am constantly.

There is no fate here, just a memory on a wave, a moment in time. Destiny a spiderweb, a looking glass of light. A slow trickle becomes a stream, a reflection of all it sustains. Is this study or becoming? Would I swap these limbs for the iridescent wings of a dragonfly to capture light like faith in the cathedral glass.

Beauty is defined here, on a sensual breeze that shines in whispers crossing time, a slowing of speed to equal the heart. Poems are thoughts before they are words, flowing to fruition like the uncurling fern or the fledglings feathers in that first tentative flight. Although the tools that place them here are the implements of man, they are born of nature.

The landscape…it breathes, every curve an undiscovered sigh. We scale its heights, our footprints the tiny repercussions of our existence. Without knowledge we clamber through. When the silence falls does the ground exhale, do the trees celebrate our slumber. This short window of freedom until we once more stake claim on the vast swathes of beauty. Our plots, our properties, our concrete mass inching further still like a slow ocean of ignorance.

Nature forgives, it battles through our disasters. It drowns in our discarded commitments, it sustains, it replenishes, it heals. We are blind to its scars, in all of our scurrying we see but fleeting snippets of life. In silence the land reclaims and within this pause the seeds of infinite life are born.