Cracks appearing in the face of God, and cracks in His hands where plants creep through | A vivid silence before the wings | open, a dove | whisks flight from raw labour, a mind | beats concepts from the edge | of a nap, animals | fleeing the oasis when a shadow | appears on the ground among them | Histories of important errors | Mistakes that shaped a generation | a genealogy of detours to | a mislaid route, an abandoned journey | Waterbirds and waterbeads | Ahead in time, other people are waking in my night | and out of the hollowed | carcases of angels | baby stars | crawl and cry | how they plead | to fall into the knowledge | we may have of them | Rationing our chances | stuffing spring | into our winter corners | pockets | of dereliction | we call the axioms | or Sparta or Rhodes | an entire volume | of lore or rules or codes | the zenith | the kingpin’s | grenades | the apex | the much ado | the dog’s true | diamond bollocks | missed in the flutter of a motion detector | Somesuch notion | Not anything

Putting down the Venice of the Doge, the war for lost liberties | a ladybird upon your coat sleeve | A glitch in the moon | “Although nobody asks to be born, many ask to die” | does that | come here? | or later? | or not | at all? | Our | affair | Lashed together on the ropes of dark glances, lovers | climbing a mountain, but no, really, climbing hours, and not anything | they think otherwise | In other words | a different synopsis | a separate agenda | Moments of vision | torn and foxed | the paper yellowing | Delirium near the summit | strangers walking among our party | and the snow | whisked to bliss and near | oblivion | The truth is a loneliness | a failure | inadequacy | The truth is a lady, a boat | trip down a secluded | river in summer, 1896 | But mostly, yes, failure | Add distance, fakery, fuzz… | A child, separated from the caravanserai | in a dust storm | taken by bandits or sheer | indifference | Not recorded | Never opened | Boredom and a memory of woods | on a freighter near Betelgeuse | Chapter 7: The Ladybird and the Sleeve, Again | Your lips, are you | sleeping? | Setting out on the Silk Road | Samarkand | What war makes of the bombed-out churches | where once the Lord | awaited virgins | and hours appointed | for communion | arrived | Picking up Frankenstein

from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)