To Write By A Gentle Light

The slow, warm

Rhythms of breath,

Tidal and soothing,

Unabated by the

Day ahead,

Such peace found

In the pockets of 

Gentle silence,

Strong coffee,

A cigarette as the wind exhales

And the notes of snow,

Dance across the grey notations

Of the sky,

The bed calls in response

But undiminished,

Barefoot and armoured,

I caress the blank pages,

A steaming cup left,

Offered as subtle tribute,

There is this,

The work and the force

Of the work,

Rapaciousness harnessed,

Your beauty never stills the flow,

Guides it onwards,

When it turns from my sight,

When it returns,

My eyes meet with yours,

And still gaze

With the same gentle light,

As before.

This world I’ve made for myself

Resists the playful vicissitude,

Come to the solid, supple 

Play of my presence,

A gift offered without caveat,

New depth gained in continuance,

When the work is done,

We go outside and play 

Like children, 

See if I can evoke the peals of

Laughter loud enough

To silence the wind.