Dream Poem 34: On a Roof with Authority Male
Houses mapped out in wire mesh below
On black boggy soil
I am on a roof looking down with Authority Male
As I walk
Each step has the precision and deliberation
Of a ballerina.
Sea-Fret Fogbank at Start Point
Sea-Fret Fogbank at Start Point: Sea fret fog banks descend on this rocky peninsula, creating their own liminal space. Erasing the past and the future, time becomes a loop. Makes a tidal island of Start Point. Once before the fog came, maps were destroyed in the deluge of my grief. I was lost, moorless, drifting and dead calm in a place between land and land. This time my anchor is this lighthouse built on this rock and the sounding of this fog bell. Sea fret fog descends, but yet I stand firm. I feel my toes grip the moss on the rock. Land is obliterated, without compass I am ignorant of direction, it matters not. The fog bell sounds, a voice of low sonoration, waves of ultrasonic sound As the voice of God on the immensity of the multitudinous waters, it shatters the cedars and small houses drop into the ocean. The fog is a gateway, a place where the veil thins. Do not step out, for I know the cliff drops raggedly to...
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