She surprises me, every time she does it. This no sombre treading. From point A to point B. There is the skipping. And the jumping. The wildfire gaiety. Up all around. The roses that spring. The world has yet earth-bounded. Dancing in remembrance. If only for a lifetime. A youth.

How a Day Becomes a River

A knife. The sharp daggers of surprises. The bitter pills of disappointments. Flushed red. The fluidity, that curves, that rushes over the harshest of stones that would knock me from my elated perch. The twists and bends, and all life’s wondrous possibilities, there in my love’s eyes – are all the ways a day becomesContinue reading “How a Day Becomes a River”


. 3am, rose like a mountain Pure blue Gloaming, The Tropical breezes, the cool nights Lapping, the kissing waves Of memories. Will my  Soul – shorn of flesh – know its way, Over oceans, Rivers, Thorn and  burr-filled Meadows, To my Birthright, my mothers’ Home.