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

The Choice

The sea sings it, so loudly
that you have no choice
but to hear her splendour.

The trees speak it, so still
that you have no choice
but to fall silent.

Then dreams
of scripted water and woven bark,
trees as pens and never-ending
rainbow sprays of salty ink,
thicker than blood,
slower than time,

until crashing waves become choirs
and we have no choice
but to speak truth.