To witness the subtlety of change
in all things that breathe

To grow in this new delicate rain
and spring's easy breeze

To be the colour of water
when it's finally set free

The water, calm or rowdy, comes in, slowly.
Swarming tides soon become too much,
Drowning me-
And I remain motionless,
As I fear nothing or, am paralyzed by fear,
No, the real movement comes when I am lost.
As I try to find my way time and time again.
Begging for the waters to return,
For true motion to return,
And for my tears to freely flow into the water once more.

Soothe songs clear my way.
Winds continue to whimper on,
Clouds cuddled together in the sky,
The showers start,
Water weeps,
And puddles prosper.

In the inside yard

with trees cut into a floor --


there are birds, whining.

When they offer you olives,
Rip the branch from their hands
And beat the fruit off.
The soil is ripe,
Right is might;
Who cares for leaves & petals to fall?

Down along the motorway
pathos flowers grow
a tiny piece of nature
putting on a show
watch the diesel daisies
dancing in a row
among the shredded leavings
of the M1 contraflow

I have a special interest in telling about my colonoscopy.
The doc cheerful, secure in his specialty, colon cancer being
the second leading cause of cancer death after lung tumors.
They can snip the precancerous polyps right out of you during the test.
At first the doc gave me the statistics but having paid 25 bucks for this
      interview
I decided to make him explain the science. He was most comfortable
describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic
      polyps
but what about cell structure I said. He was vague about genes and
      hormones,
I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman.
I wasn’t worried although my *** was burning.
Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse
      models for dying—
mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul
      Newman in Hombre—or hagiography
Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun.
Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all
      before,
acting tough, which isn’t actually an act
you do your prep and say your prayers.
I thought I’d be in and out **** as you probably already know
the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi. A day of fasting,
clear fluids only, and constant voiding.
You arrive at the hospital one spiritual chicken.
I reflected it can’t hurt, lose a little weight, remember who you are
without so much **** and flesh between you and the natural world.
Snipping polyps is like taking electrons to a lower quantum energy level,
      nearer the nucleus, with fasting and ****** abstinence.
The art of total presence and abstinence, dependence on the Other for
      future existence.

Gathering sky,
heavy folds of white and linen grey
wrap the day,
tight in a nettle scented breeze
a blanket with no escape
song birds call, sharp to each other
hidden in the hedgerow
where the cow grass grows
thigh high by the gate,
pierced by spears
of meadowsweet and celandine
and so we wait to look for rain
allthough the weather may turn fine
who knows which way the season blows
in British summer time