una rosa rota


susurra a la luna

de un jardín
una herida

una tierna primavera




a broken rose

edges worn

whispers to the moon

of a garden
a wound
a tender spring



camino bello
del sol y del río
entre hojas moradas
música y miel
hay rosas doradas
una lluvia fiel



memory is slow to repair

it moves towards the other
knowing full well
there is nobody there



la garganta me duele
las palabras no salen
no tienen a donde ir
no saben qué decir
caminaré contigo
liberando mis miedos
dejando mis huellas
en las manos
de mareas
al mar
infinity sleeps in your eyes
while time rests its wings
and love grows quiet
gardens in the rain
fragile extensions of her being weaved the colours of seasons into reasons to go
it's cold again
the days pass
the hours go by
your words are gone
and the sun is warm
in the morning

la ausencia no existe
en los recuerdos imaginarios
solo existe el ascenso del silencio

diciéndome soltar



while you drowned
in the sound of the rain 
I soaked in bright colours
walked through mud puddles
wet gleaming traffic lights



inhaling your wild words
is a surge of excitement

a lie lies on every note



hilos de luz
tan finas
más frágiles
caen aquí
es mojado
el oscuro
no es frío
donde respiro
los recuerdos de ti




what happens
if the silence turns around
and the quiet in the walls
falls through the cracks
and I laugh again



there is a journey in me

still and constant

longing to be

in the light

of old souls

in the company

of those

who have learned

to walk slow



ashes of permanence

are buried in my being

in all the memories
I forget



dreams pull me in 

to the other side 

of broken

where wings

and fragile limbs



by the echos

we don’t comprehend

until we see it’s love

that pulled us in



I see the storm will steer me down that road where wild screams are split in two



immutable desire
waiting in circles
unseen she goes round
she goes round in circles



One Sunday I remember sharing a way of seeing the world written on a napkin imagining your map of stories drawn on fine paper wings. It made me smile to think of travelling against wind with sad bears, old cats, imaginary friends and things.



half alone
half here
hidden, written
in bitter poetry



Beauty weighted against the ache of nothingness is fading gracefully. My body, an elegant scar of flesh fused to memory, gives way to its weary ghosts. Signs of light and lightness seep through the lines to the living,  dying. I see my corpse amidst the shadows, quietly ablaze.



in this aching cold
my tears roll



your tired feathers

to the greys of old
the dust
the cold