My thoughts turn to you | Always we work with the material of our emptiness | our tunnels through the clouds | Labour in the green | shops of the forest, the boxed | city stores | A fox’s eyes | in headlights | a golden eyeshine | Sewing with the slender | thread of meaning | all those garments | Sometimes I feel my coat wear thin | I’m not sure what to make of us | and in that uncertainty | you are kind | and so my thoughts always return to you | In the subtle ferment of our empty nature | like a roil of clouds or | steam rising | from an extractor | we must keep going | to call that wildness home

Fabulous ants and spiders | their lives a craft | spinners and builders | Electron | webs | the glimmer of | gluons and quarks | nests of cells | eggs of metal and steam | Turn your eyes | a few atoms | frost | sparkles to its next | lost configuration | Nothing, but what we | wall in with names | shape and plane | in the green | production of the forest | or the partitioned honey of the city | we form ourselves to work, to build a solidarity | to value kindness or gold | to beckon in the stray world | to call this emptiness whole


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