Secretly they come.
As the rain dissolves autumn,
the fungi appear.

Sometimes

Sometimes,
our bodies will preempt our souls
and set the compass of our days.

It is then we come to know 
that life is bigger than our bodies;

that our bundled galaxies of cells  
are only half the story
of the life we are.

We live in what we love;
our passions and our joys 
set loose the verve 
of our vitality. 

The heavens brim with light
from distant stars long gone,
stars that flared then faded into dust.

We all, like stars, are mortal
and our days are numbered,
yet the light we shine lives on in all we love.

Count not the days
but count the places lit,
the people loved, 
the lives illuminated in some way
by what you are 
and who you choose 
to be. 

Like starlight we disperse and fade,
but not to nothingness.
The things we love absorb us.
The people we love inherit us.
The God we love receives us

with wide open arms.  

If I were you

If I were you 
and standing in the place you stand
I’d hope for people who would recognise
my need to be a hundred 
contradictory things;

to cry because I need to,
to rest because I’m weary,
to be cheerful when I’m wanting 
to defy my grief,
to be busy, just because it lubricates
the tyranny of time’s slow turning.

If I were you, 
I’d need a hug 
in eloquence of silence
for silence shared is more articulate than words.

And I would crave normality;
to talk of small things like the weather,
not because the big things are too scary
but because the small things still exist
and life, of sorts, goes on.

And yet we know we are not you.
You may need different things 
that we could scarcely know, 
and so, 
we simply wait and pray.

Our hearts, and house, 
are open to you
any day. 

Sensuous

Oh for a nose to surf the scents of autumn...