Mostly I’m thinking about what it can mean to be with someone. To giving attention to each particular process with a person and seeing where it goes. Taking proper time to listen. Bringing a focus to the body perhaps. Being responsive to possibilities, trusting in the idea of possibility that connections can and will come. Something could go further than might appear possible at first. But it’s here in these spaces, in these places of discovery with someone that I like to be. It’s scary too and it’s hard to explain what might happen. Time and again I struggle to describe it. But I keep asking myself the questions around how and why, and who I am through all of this, and it keeps me here.

 

 

 

 

letter to the cottage (sent 8.3.17)

 

Thank you fire, chair, bed, blanket, hot water bottle, window

 

Chord from the light, reminder of a distant home

 

Preparing to leave

 

Casting a net over moments caught

 

Supermarket café, choreography of shoppers through the panoramic aperture between two spaces

 

Stirling in the moonlight – Timeless

 

Teddy folded, squashed inside the coils of cable, pushed hard under the chest

 

Daring to touch each other

 

Water pouring out of the land – hands carrying

 

Late night man thinking about his funeral

 

‘Lambing is as close to birth as you can get’

 

Cold feet on stone, reposition sitting reposition sitting

The Witness Tree – horses, outlaws, night into day

 

Horseshoe curves in the road.  Valleys rolling. Medieval Castle, stonewalls stacked layered, angles over angles. Tower circle, winding staircase. Up down just me. No visitors inside these damp walls. Just me

 

Motorbike in pieces, over sloping grass

 

Hair splayed out in sundials

 

Guitar rock loud from the graffiti hole – Mouth and body mimicking sound

 

Black notes, colony of ants, pouring into the grand piano

 

Leaving a life behind – starting a new

 

Talking to people

 

Tremor of emotion – his every word

 

Love love for the animals

 

Reading to a child, missing mine

 

The gift of gingerbread

 

Time is what we have

 

And invitations to a possible other place

 

If only I could reach you