Voice


Apart is exquisite: one sun, one tower

one holy room paged full of days

yet dry, bare of form and steel power

The lone mind by the window lifts its gaze


Converge. Two voices strengthen thought, and ten

extend it. Plait the rope so taut it holds

apples, rings of roses, cobblestones, then

hoist beyond known doors. Court vertigo


The tower, extended, wants a chorus

not a mob. A tuning fork’s tapped ‘C’ peals

the mind past fog to sound a ferrous

star: a bold north is the only way to see


Proud in splendour, yet waking life alone

a rooftop garden is the only home