Slipping through

I’m lost for words,

for those mono-/


rhythms, which once tumbled

like dandelions

blown away

and now they vanish,



I don’t know what to say

how to act…

who can I be –



I am me

but who am I

and where are my words?


Stems of pale

Dry pale blue flowers

lie across my heart

crumbling to the touch

so frail are they.


Everything’s gone from them –

no scent,

no bounce;

only a touch of one’s fingertips

and they crumble

so frail are they.


They scatter yet remain

at home where,

withstanding time,

they are held together

and loved.

All up in air

You stand there

bang in the middle

of a swamp

when a gust levitates

the leaves

the ants

the soil

the worms.


It’s real,

you know it is,

and there you stand

in the midst of it all.


Colours whizz around you









And you’re there



where’s it all gone?

how do I carry it?

who am I now?


…then you call each out

for what it is to realise

nothing has changed

while everything has…

for truth is only of the moment.

As you approach..

As you approach

the finish line,

so elusively close,

you’re awash with apprehension,

exhausted and desperate

besides yourself,

terrfied at the mere possibility

of not crossing over

with both feet.

Another morning dawns,

ever closer to that finish line,

and the sunrise calls you,

gloating in its warmth,

and you ground yourself

all of you geared to this new day

as a gentle voice inside you

resounds “it’s going to be ok”…

Yet unborn

Grey pebbles beneath my feet

as the water stretches

to and from its bed.


It feels cool

but not cold

as I fill myself up

with the saltiness,

as my eyes rest

on the shimmering white of the waves,

dreaming of the city

passing by,

the city above the clouds.


In theĀ  silence,

washed over by solitude,

I am completely alone

with my breathing.