Memories tree out sending roots down and branches up. We stand as neutrinos sweep through us and mirror neurons play us. Things that are essential(ly) different cannot affect each other, yet the dark matters of the world, seemingly so invisible, in fact hold everything together. Without the dark all would dis-solve the problem. The light … Continue reading Mirror Matters

Black Hole In the middle of the creek a beach flowers, ice for sand, around a small dark ocean circle. The sun the whiteness the water — for a moment you can imagine a different beach. But here, as the sun floods, sand melts into sea: expanding the horizon of the black hole at the … Continue reading 3 Winter Poems

The red bird streaks, Fixes the flower In the vase. But it thuds to the ground, Felled by a force field That it perhaps guessed At the last moment was there: A reflection, a moment Of self-recognition. It lies, Stunned, Before rising again To its feet and its flight, Gaining one more chance To tell … Continue reading Reflection

It runs black and grey like static in the nerve channels. Suddenly there are holes in the pages on which you are trying to right the wrongs of your life. Not quite hunger, not quite sadness yet not, not. The river is filled with thorns. Your skin shrinks against you, constricting the flow of time, … Continue reading Static

They wanted to fly, Daedalus and his son: like birds, like gods. And so they fashioned wings of wax and escaped across the sea. But Icarus flew too high, son-melted. The story is supposed to be about hubris, but we didn’t learn. Instead we took revenge, fashioned new toys, not from wax but oil, not … Continue reading The Fall

in support of the efforts to protect Old Growth forests in Fairy Creek, and everywhere. For centuries they have stood: watchtowers of bark and branch, roots that record and remember. And now, again, we cut — the birds raise the alarm, as we raze their homes to the ground. Not logging — What is the … Continue reading Fairy Creek

A scar on the skin Of our ground Splits, opens like an eye That has been crusted shut By salt and old tears fall Like rain filling the new valley With molten grief at the heart of things Makes the plates shift and shatter Like memories into mosaics On the floor of the cathedral Over … Continue reading Scar

What is a person? An invisible point Of view The centre Of a cloaked circle An asymptotic history Tending towards a soul An imaginary number Of irrational roots