As if the speed of sorrow increased | Messengers, running in your direction, but | are they coming to you? || Competition for places | intricate | thoughts | wield their fragile axes || Knowing less and less, putting up an umbrella | pitching camp in the rain, this | will be your home for a few moments || Time | trials || A young boy | leaves the race and walks off | under the trees || Look for solace where you will, hurting as you go || Throw your anger into the indifferent, the uncaring, the beautiful | spring | it is all | departures and new plans | to tap the sun and to toss | more life into the breeze | you may | catch the train or miss it, leaving is its only course || Can’t you see? | Everything you are has grown intangible | the rest | was never you || Vessels splitting, spilling damage | living both together and apart | old questions renew their power in friction and in | bursting and seeding | again and again | love is the issue

Dew too heavy for those flowers | Flowers too strong | for the dew || The subtle lines of letters | bringing huge, burdensome ideas | ink | flourishes to the hollow light | of late afternoons in silent houses || Excess | the rule, excess | our pulse and element || Sombre | tumult || A tongue-tip’s | salt needs and | stops and glottals on a book of | Spanish poetry || In fissured pipes | water | puts the dampener on Victorian walls, eases | the leaves of plaster loose, no | smooth finish | left | the fatigued copper | prepares to sleep too far and too | long from ore || Atoms poured out in milk and liquid steel, the spring brings you | messengers in green and blue | somehow | slower than you may forget, but | too | faster now than you can remember


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