Autumn came to whisper -
clinging on is futile...

The head chairs meetings
voices creep...

Anger
is...

It is hard to trust
when fear leaves...

The unsuspecting mystics rose
at four in the morning...

Alone is one of my favourite words,
it has no echoes of loneliness...

Sometimes inspiration
comes in a bolt...

There is tenderness
in rising every morning...

The robust reality,
mundane hours slip...

Holding space for grief,
even without words...

I needed to write this poem
with a pen...

In the winter of the
frozen prayers...