The Mountain The mountain is a hostage-taker.By the time you reach the summit it may already be too late.When the path forks follow the stones and the moss,but listen to what the silence is telling you. The mountain wears a collar of lace.All those little bits of symmetry snicked out so prettilyby the wind as…

Through an Office Window I am not at work hearing a service user saythe tremors were bad this morning, he’s been told it could be years or weeksbut he’s got no intention of stopping, I’m walking the ridge, crossing dependable fieldsbetween rooftops and clouds to the farm. And my dad is not in bed in the afternoonbut pottering in…