Wishes don’t always come

in threes

some wishes are wrapped

with invisible silver wires

around the heart

so tight it cannot breathe

some wishes float on a murky pond

twisting this way and that

in the question breezes

dodging light

some wishes are so large

they cannot be filled

like an endless song

echoing round and round the head

a phantom ache without a trace

of source

that won’t go away

Creature of habit

Photo by Dan Fraser


this life can seem like

a collection of rags

and second hand words

hung on an empty shell

of habit

other times

I go to the woods

a lover of the ancient cedar

where I heal with my hands

in the hum of the holy ghost




A dead tree standing

solitary sentinel

on the frozen lake

a fading full moon in front

rising sun bright behind

and the steady crunch

of a passing soul

on the crisp white ground


           White on the ground

            grey in the hair

            spark in the eye