This is the house of Love, which has no bound nor end.

Throwing Stones

“And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made One” — Omar Khayyam

Sit with me in this empty house of glass
facing east with all the wise men wandering
through Omar Khayyam’s quatrains
and watch how the light leaps off
the shattered pieces of sharp colour
just to show you the one organ which sees
through all noise and knows
the difference between change and acceptance.

Then come back to another hot day
spent dancing through the desert
with so many concrete owls, their big eyes
gazing at our gatheredness from the bottom
of old bottles, mimicked in the green top
to this place which plays with tree shadows
and sings bittersweetly in the dry wind,
giving voice to that old song Arthur heard
about the axis of a golden star,
giving back all it can
of a light which goes on


That Youth’s sweet-scented manuscript

And another nightingale

Come back to life

Owl light