Always places, never faces
Although the words align
Dreams of journeys, of passengers
But the trip begets the theme:
People - messengers, subordinated
Familiar yet understated.
And so it seems, the spaces hold:
Arched
The Shape Of Things
The shape of things isn't always
What it seems, on the surface
A thin veneer, obscuring
That what appears as form
Is but normalised belief
A superfice
Morning breaks,
The dewy landscape damp
Woodland floor nondescript
Against the dank debris
Of last year’s beech leaves
Strewn across now-muddied ground
Sun takes its first steps
Peering o’er the
O’er half the world, the dreamer flies
Above middle towns and country places
Liquid grace, never too close to the sun
But through once-sullen clouds, suddenly parted
Drawing electrical storms into
