the undying leaf speaks, full to Moon
what say you of this darkened spoon? 

wrapped around you,  I am      
circles of iridescent colour— halos of Hope

summoning the demise of kings—  
old bearing way to       fruit—  as breath 

Mother's arms crimson red— 
winter womb bears 
   
unbreakable, immutable life
releases us from shackles   

endures razored, separated parts    
belonging sings to heart—       

the trees stand still, open mouthed,  
cracked skin, bare-fisted 

blooming this Dark Harvest  
the necessity for things to die  
  
the lesser i— does not want to be seen, 
at the edge of our capacity  

on the ledge of Truth, the lesser dies—  
until you feel       how I feel 

I've been quiet. And busy. That wasn't the plan. 

There was a lunar halo around the Supermoon in Dublin 7 last night.  I wrote this a few weeks ago but tidied it up late last night. I'm feeling this threshold time of stripped back winter. Her naked truth. 

The spectrum of colour has climaxed in The Phoenix Park. The best till last. The leaves have been soaring like birds in billows of wind. November butterflies stray into my kitchen, lunar haze speaks of much Beauty. 

I've not had time to write. So much slowing down that's needed. But how, after everything, so much Hope abounds. This unbreakable power of Love. 

We are all part of this one thing. The Renaissance yet to come.