One morning in July.

Sometimes (not enough to be romantic)
I still think of you as you were
naked, raw and vulnerable,
transcendant and powerful as the dawn
I remember that I smiled like a child,
and tangled playfully through your trailing raven hair
anything I asked, you would give it
and before you all I had was laid bare.

I think you bore insight
when you told me I don't love you
even if I think you were right,
that doesn't mean I don't wish it weren't true
and I still think with fondness on that time
the warmth of your body pressed to mine
you were the earth, and I was the sky
if only for a moment, one morning in July.

The Full Moon Grinning On The Black Mire at Midnight

Amid blackest light and stillest wind
Between the dells and mountaintops
Towards a vale roads dare not wind
Where gathers water like a pot
And gathers there the scent of rot

Amid the drowning ghosts of giants,
Where the grinning moon has shone
There the site of ancient rites
Where stands a monument of stone
There lies a pile of human bone

Winter Tonic

Wounded I limp through midwinter showers
Autumn leaves from the trees by the winds have all shook
Half-hearted days leave me sullen and dour
And respite in the light is a plight for a rook,
In place is a tonic of formidable power
one part bath, one part book,
And one part long witching hour