An Altar

I sat at my table
and loved its surface.
Its scratches,
the way it shoogled
and didn’t shine
in the sun.

Distant sounds
of the 12
to the West End.
Thoughts stuck
in my bones.

But I was under
the buddleia,
beneath the sky.
The song of a wren,

The grass grew
up to my shoulders.
And noticing
instilled in me
spring’s possibilities.

The Corn Moon Swims

With her sequin scales
she pushes through
the clouds
above the firethorn
hosting spiders
mapping for dew
as leaves float, spin
and gather over
creatures who know
it’s time to go within
and create space
for silence.