MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

Conjuring fish in the morning sun
the sea slips me a tip, a coin
on my tongue, the language through
which I will send my love to you.

MOONLIGHT

A pat of butter on the sea.
When I was young it used to soothe
my bruises, the hot bump on my head.
But this just sits on its cool plate,
the rhythmic tilt and splash
eroding nothing, nothing.
Discolouration spreads
as far as you can see, fish slip
like corpuscles so deep down
they're only calculations
or acts of faith where shadows jostle
ponderous as cows.

RIPE

Dying torches the forest,
sending us to bed
with nightmares about fires
and words scattering
like wild creatures, birds
hellbent for the cities
where we will dream
succulent fruits popping with seeds
like pine cones, our mouths
bristling with teeth
and our extraordinary tongues
ripening at dawn.