The question these mornings of birdsong
Face Masks
The question these mornings of birdsong
Tag: Uncollected Poems
The Burial of the Dead
I woke up this morning thinking/T.S. Eliot had no clue
To a dead fox
A poem in draft form.
Le temps déborde
After Éluard and Cave.
A Backward Glance
With apologies to Walt Whitman.
Réentrée
A new attempt at a poem.
Rejoice
A Christmas Day poem. Unedited.
Ni siquiera la muerte
Ni siquiera la muerte
se desahce de este polvo.
Rio de Janeiro, April 8, 1832
What would have taken to break the silence?
Sensational Butterflies
Written on my notebook at the 'Sensational Butterflies' show, National History Museum, London , 25 May 2014.
Another Place
What strikes us
is the stillness.
Everybody Digs Bill Evans
"Everybody Digs Bill Evans", a new poem. Of sorts.
Everything is Connected 
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