After Mauritshuis.

Everyday it must be like this:

Remember, before you forget.

Of course, Rembrandt knew this.

The brush has words for those motes.

For the spine cracks,

The binding dries

and the pages go missing.

The candle gutters

and the rose cankers.

Age deflates -

A slow puncture.

The dust unsettles

But the paint remains thick.

Signs Taken for Wonders.

If I stop long enough…
I open a door
And suddenly it’s summer.

The trees lift their leaves
And the sun is
Kindly light.

I can see the hills of home
Gently swelling like a
Teenager’s breast,

The fields are parched
And marked for
Stubble razing.

Everything is aligned,
The horizon crisp
As a photograph.

Over the houses tonight
A round faced moon
In a clear winter sky.

A diamond frost
Like stubble on
An old man’s face -

All this nature
It means something,
Beyond weather.

Monday 19th February

London as Indian embroidery

Sequins, swirls, mandalas of light