The Moons of Mountain Ana VIII…


Gemma’s warmth as

she links my arm and

the world stops screaming…


You are an island dark with life;

A swan-hatched dream, taking flight;

A blue-shot cormorant, nestled in night.


Gemma’s warmth when she talks about

the sort of house she wants, her bottom

drawer, and the colour of christmas decorations.


The warmth of a smile

 when I look at her crotch:

 earth / urge / air / care.


O’ for another storm stressed day,

when the sky spoke and

our world yielded… to rain.


‘I could have run much faster.’

‘You should have been here over Christmas.’


Of all the things

I’ll never get chance to do…

3 thoughts on “The Moons of Mountain Ana VIII…

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