Once upon a time

there were two suns in the sky

they burnt up the grass

the land was a desert

tochtli the rabbit

was caught by his legs

and thrown against

the second sun

he doused its fire

and it became the moon

old languages grow legs

and wander away

their myths are lost

the moon face

sings at dawn

in a blue-silver pond

the alarm clock shuffles

its pack of sleeping hours

claws click

needles knit

outwards towards

dawn’s bright

guillotine of light

somewhere

a grindstone

a knife edge

sharpened

against blunt stone

my red heart

thumps in its cage

of skin and bone

6:00 AM

church bells

old dreams vanish

vanquished

light’s banquet

delivered by the sun

last night’s harsh words

black scars hacked

into the stucco

trenchant shadows

wounding

white washed walls

the handy man

tumble dries a tv ad

in the washing machine

of his song sparrow throat

7:00 AM

breakfast

yesterday

I boiled an egg

today I tap

with silver spoon

on the grateful grapefruit’s

golden skull

high in the church  tower

a hammer blow

falls on an echoing anvil

the cracked bell

lurches into speech

now rooster crows

his thick rich

cocoa rico

naturaleza muerta

a still life on the tablecloth

squeezed juice

the orange’s yellow robe

spent and exhausted

wasted globe

its carcasse still sticky

its flesh still alive

the orange’s life blood

a sacrifice of thick

rich golden liquid

as fierce and sweet

as sunshine on a branch

hot chocolate

roasting coffee

baking bread

pan dulce tugging

at the heart strings

morning’s melodies

played across

a spotless cloth

coffee bubbles and spills

black gold  mopped

from the table’s

white glacial snow

dark side

of a hollow

silver spoon

8:00 am

yesterday

not today

phantoms from other worlds stared as I rushed

from place to place

the marimba’s dark chords

the urgent grind

of the street musician’s

hurdy-gurdy

the donkey walks

round and round

mashing the maguey

eyes

stark holes

opening to the soul

who chose me?

who sacrificed me

to this anonymous god?

a restless heart of fire

will I burn forever

broken ghosts

sat grey-faced

round the table

their achromatic skulls

glowed

pale across green beige

the aztec horoscope

life’s dark secret

drawn from a crystal ball

days undying

unforgotten stars

as bleak as the unknown

as white as winter snow

unmelted above

Ixticihuatl’s glow

now you suffer the solitary

confinement of the imprisoned heart

dark oubliette

Jack Straw castle

prison bar ribs

you sit in a silent room

you eat at an empty table

a jackdaw

drawn in by bright things

you gather glistening rings

childhood bubbles

reminiscences

burnt brown leaves

bearing the brunt

of this haunting song

9:00 AM

memories

age old winter

the north wind

bristling black

crows over my roof

wind in their pinions

creak of uplifting

sinews

rowing  tight

against cold air

last summer’s leaves

locked in ice

sun-warmed they outline

themselves against thin snow

snow

I have forgotten

how to walk in the woods

how to watch leaves fall

earthwards

this frail old man

at winter’s end

the strong sun

painting and wrinkling

his crab apple face

like a musician

he composes

his life

his tree bursts

back into bloom

limb by limb

at the entrance to paradise

solid sunshine

a fountain of youth

a gold and white tree

standing on guard

old man

for thee

a single sunbeam falls

in shattered fragments

from this high

rose window

arms akimbo

your shadow is a cross

across the cathedral’s

stone cold floor

light steps lightly

across pale lilies

patterned on marble

old man

when the stones

grow tongues

will they speak

the languages

in which you dream?

10:00 AM

in the roof garden

I see tropical birds

brightly feathered angels

the blackbird

burnishes my morning

twining his song

round the grapefruit’s

yellow sun

poised on a sunbeam

a tiny warrior fans my face

with coloured wings

my sad world

whistled away

even the lemon tree

leans over to listen

pearls of dew

embellish

the morning’s throat

quetzal feathers play

a chromatic scale

a rainbow’s harp

the hibiscus --

blood red stains

sharp in the sunlight

slow dance

ancient stars

the tianguitzli

pale in morning’s

magical glow

this flower’s gaudy eye

daubs your adobe wall

with a fresco of silence

misshapen pearls

in their prisons of shell

your world breaks down

tranquil words trapped

in hand-blown glass

trembling

– the flower you see

is not a flower

because you see it –

it’s a flower

because it sees you

11:00 AM

Baños de Oaxaca

my broken body

mending beneath

the healer’s hands

pliant

I lie on the marble

massage slab

hot springs

steam rising round me

a hint of relaxing herbs

water slopping over

veined stone

my flesh abandoned 

released to cauterizing

currents of earth and air

a mystery swimming

golden river

joy mingled with grief

the azotea drifts

in and out

on a magic carpet

of floral clouds

half-dozing

you dream of sunlight

nochebuena

single and double petals

crimson and cream

cempasúchiles

gilding the pathways

guiding footsteps

one day

you will walk

the golden trail of the dead

through an open door

into an enchanted evening

outside in the street

stones warm

beneath the sun

rough beneath hard feet

tomorrow

the sun will shoot again

his bright arrows

tipped with  flame

hearts and the azotea

sweetly pierced

a hummingbird hovers

a bird of paradise

opens his lazy eye

yellow with sunshine

12 :00

midday mass

the cathedral

a secret world

opening like an oyster

time without end

candle flames caressing

this snowy altar

a chill room of stone

warmed sometimes by song

wide open staring eyes

white owl

madness

nailed to this wood

gerunds

the world as I never

knew it

always about to be born

passive voiced

carefully matched

gender number case

bored auxiliaries

surrounded by participles

drawn from my ever changing past

breath thick on my tongue

my live wire mind

trapped in an endless circle

going nowhere

you are lost

you drift in silence

changing visions

you inhabit

your own version

of life as you know it

lashed to a pillar

you turn red blood

into purple wine

five hundred

years of taunts and mockery

your body blood

mingling

wine with blood

water with wine

1:00 PM

water

cupped hands

cannot embrace you

do you remember

when the earth

was without form

and darkness lay on

the face of the deep

you yearned then

to be released

flowing from the darkness

flowering into sunlight

arid land within my skull

the shrunken head pond

fields scorched and dry

the land’s parched throat

longing  for liquid

water born free

yet everywhere in chains

this mirage of palm trees

green against burning sand

the hot sun dragging

its blood red tongue

across a powder blue sky

panting for water

I drag my tongue

like a great big thirsty dog

words and worlds

begin with light

light

dividing darkness

from darkness

then came water

male and female

borne and born

water

like daylight

breaks

the life sustaining

substance

drains away

this baby thrown

from darkness into light

this sun riding

the sky’s blue

rocking horse

2:00 PM

in the zócalo

bright threads

interlaced castillos

scintillating cities

grecas floating on air

lighter than lightning

at night fires

flow freely down

church walls

a blazing fountain

infinitesimal

in the afternoon sun

tiny figures

they walk on wool

their goldfish  mouths

opening and closing

in the zócalo

three brujas:

one spins my yarn

one measures my cloth

wooden teeth

comb each thread

the unsubtle shuttle

always moving

strands of my life

woven and interwoven

back strap looms

and fixed wooden structures

one wields the scissors

she threatens to sever

my thin life thread

you can start with

a match’s glow-worm

when that small flame

flickers in the dark

you can breathe

fire into shavings

flame into dry bark

watch the new life

ignite

walk into fire

your shadow on the wall

a new star

rises to walk

star-crossed

constellations

3:00 pm

bag lady

her name

its letters

scratched one by one

on some roadside rock

last year I visited

her birthplace

but it was deserted

empty houses

ruined walls

sharp-horned cattle

stand watchful and wary

“let he who is without ...”

I fill my fists with stones

a cobbled path

blunt stones

to trip the weary

and unwary

one day

she will vanish

I will not even know

her name

barefoot over the cobbles

she strays through the gaps

in the cactus fence

is she a beast of burden?

what memories

does she carry packed

in her plastic bags?

who can read

between the stitches

of her seamless life?

on the path through

open fields at Dainzú

she throw stones

at scrawny cows

and slant eyed dogs

her husband walks

behind her

stoned on mescal

dust and shadows of dust

how can you understand these words?

so much sand

filtered and sifted

dry mouths

thirsty children

bearded agile ruminants

goats

thriving on the grass roof

billies and nannies

with their basket

-weave ribs

scrawny cows

and slant eyed dogs

thin men with stone faces

high on mescal

4:00 pm

siesta

once upon a time

I planted

a mountain ash

but it wasn’t called that

I have forgotten

it’s other name

so many things

walk away from us

in dreams

the sapsucker family

point accusatory beaks

wet bark bleeding

bound now in sackcloth

their world

reduced to ashes

memories and

dreams of memories

does this stick really bend

when I immerse it in water?

can I really see

that which is

no longer there?

tochtli

the rabbit

who inhabits the moon

he sits there

gnawing at the tree

beneath the tree

dark under worlds

in which this upper world

lies rooted

when the moon

shines bright

dead spirits

walk marigold paths

over night’s waters

the dream cat’s

round green eye

staries out of the window

it wills the world to end

in a cat and mouse game

darkness

within darkness

you never planted

that scarlet spark

that lone red squirrel

a stone of flint

sparking at your feeder

he turns

his back on the snow

sets it aglow

he silences wild birds

with his chitter chatter

he walks

the tight sky rope of the clothes line

ignoring the cat

will he ever fall off?

does he even

know who or what

you are?

5:00 PM

home thoughts

from abroad

an obsidian knife

slices my mind in two

snowflakes invade

my split personality

Petrarchan ice

layers fine films

ignites

a glacial fire

incarcerated birds

sing in my rib cage

their song

draws a thread

around my heart

and it soars

like a kite

    a razor blade

slits my eyeball

in a s-l-o-w

motion

m-o-v-i-e

ideas

slip and slide

they spin their wheels

in ice and snow

thoughts are lost

messages are hidden

a left-handed

surrealist scrawl

writes crude words

on the morning mirror

out at night with the dog

a teas freezes in my eye

then  alls to the ground

it rebounds

then rises to the sky

now I am

an enormous sunflower

trapped in this wet clay

rag of a body

nochebuena

a star fell

down the chimney

the cat and the dog

stood up to deliver

their version of their

Christmas vision

ghosts on a snowbank

white in the moonlight

so lovely and so bright

a child’s world

a lost bone buried

once upon a time

a long long time

ago

6:00 PM

outside Hernán Cortés’s House

dark settles early   

on streets and squares

shop windows

islands of brightness

where am I?

who am I?

what am I?

an opening door

breaks the silence

snaps a sudden

match of light

tick of the death watch

beetle in a crumbling

colonial house

what have I done

with my life?

anonymous clocks

wear no faces

their hands

are severed

at the wrist

was he the one

who came to this place

and left this place

all places being one?

high wires

barbed and bristling

point the way to fear

in the royal armoury

an old sword sits outside

its scabbard

it howls at the moon

like a dog

it has remembered

how to thirst for

blood

a black lace mantilla

cloud cast over the moon

no night lantern

to lighten

the star-laden sky

who are you?

when did you go?

where are you

now?

after the earthquake

these walls were

no longer upright

all houses

even the body’s

break slowly down

in this house

a blunt edged sword

coffined in rust

bereft of sharpness

7:00 PM

victims

my mouth

its full moon

open

in a round

of

pink shock

even though

I think I know

where

I am

I don’t know

when

I am

I am not insane

but will I

ever

be the same?

time has frozen

ice water

on my wrist

wingless moths

row round and round

the gutter’s carousel

scissors

have severed

their angel wings

their staring eyes

their night painted faces

bone

and its marrow

settle in subtle ice

a razor blade draws

thin red lines

a grid across the soul’s

dry husk

terminal madness

my head spins

round and round

two men

sitting in the gutter

they hold a razor blade

a sharpened knife

before them

sad wingless creatures

whirr an unending dance

round and round

the midnight band

stops its midnight march

FOR SALE

MOTH WINGS

money changes hands

all the hands

on all the clocks

stand upright

crying out in anguish

the moths row furiously

round and round

8:00 PM

evensong

the little old lady

lives in the moon

she dresses

in fine cotton

coloured with a flower’s dreams

a night fish

caught on a moonbeam

she winds me up

and reels me in

to her realm in the sky

she unpicks me

stitch by stitch

and the stars

hold out their hands

she binds me with starlight me

and winds me into

a ball of new-born wool

then she lowers me

back to earth

where a young girl

finds me

and knits me back together  again

wild waves of sound

the evening bells

pounding

their celestial hammers

moon dogs circle

the lunar king

twin ear rings

dangling

the tongue you parrot

stammers thickly

with an anonymous

flame

beneath flowers

in the park

a cricket activates

its trigger of song

bright flashes of sound

spark from the tree

soft flare

of moon

of your

kingdom

come

a great red gong

my heart

plucked out and pulsing

as bright as

a cherry

as orange as

an orangutan

its life-giving

pendulum

once shivered

back and forth

from rib to rib

now it gathers

on the night roost tree

an avian blossom

a chinese lantern moon

perches on high branches

etiolated crossbones

and a great bleached

beach ball skull

a sea of unsought

silver light

9:00 PM
in the cathedral

the chapel fills

with darkness

patches of light

where a few candles

still flicker

how do I dream

the music of the dead?

how do I trace

their dance steps?

this morning’s incense

still hangs

light on the air

the candle I ignite

stutters a name

the face

scarcely remembered

a fresh face

peers like a flower

through the chapel’s gloom

the altar fills me

with regret

black blades of glass

as sharp as knives

lie ready on the altar

for what strange sacrifice?

there is a slow

thin ribbon of blood

as the tongue is slit open

she pierces thin lips

with a cactus needle

who needs

this crown of thorns

the statue bears?

bound wrists

striped back

stones are so heavy

in this floral basket

a moonbeam slips

its sly glass knife

dry fibrillation

of a suffering heart

candles

flickering on the flood

yellow their flames

above the white

altar cloth

with its cross

of gold

gilded

the cotton lily

an old woman

clasps her  hands

in the confessional

dust rises

as she falls

to her knees

the old prayers

forgotten

herr fingers

knit themselves

together

a spider web

her face

fine-lined

with wrinkles

10:00 PM

alone at my table

white against blue

the breath going

out of him

this warrior destined

to dance and serve

a cruel sun

his last words

gold and silver

threads

so delicate

so thin

ice cold water

on which he no longer

dares nor cares

to walk

rich silk

tapestry woven

another man’s hands

another man’s time

the winter grey

seas of home

crest in my mind

simplicity

the full tide

filling the basin

the ships coming home

salt on the wind

raucous gulls

sifted on a fine

wind’s sieve

white horses

in the farrier’s

nearby forge

stamp and surge

aghast

at the shoeing

my eiderdown

is stuffed

with a dull dry winter coat

dead birds sacrificed

so I can lie here in comfort

for all you know

they could be there

and not here

or here

and not there

but where are

here and there

when ghosts

shunt and shuttle

box cars boxed

back and forth

on the mind’s dark railway sidings

can you break

from that old film

with its black and white

photographs?

your long dead footsteps echo

through empty rooms

11:00 PM

packing it in for the day

this auriferous sky

sewn with sharp sequins

is there a warp

towards meaning

a leaning towards

sun or moon?

when my footsteps

were first planted

did they take root

and grow?

or were they

snow geese

oies de neige

white feathers

celestial

smoke trails

instant gratification

timeless

possession of each passing  cloud?

toil and bondage

this zapotec

measures the cloth

this mixtec

weaves whose destiny

her soft thread

gifted with stars?

this trique

severs the artery

you are no longer

bound to life’s loom

your grief is their grief

do you then bleed

in vain?

nochebuenas

tulipanes

flowers of every colour

pour  through the sky

from every open vein

a rocket released

streaks upwards

this new comet

forecasts what birth

or death?

glowing incandescent

its tail aflame

it lights the horizon

its explosion knocks

on heaven’s door

but are the gods

in possession of

their house?

are they still

at home?

the rocket’s silver star

a long white scar

streaming feathers

12 AM

envoi

squeezed orange

as fierce and sweet

as sunshine

on a branch

yesterday

I tapped

with ardent spoon

on the graceless grapefruit’s

golden skull

tomorrow

I will boil

another egg

hot coffee

baking bread

do not spill

the coffee’s life blood

across a vacant cloth