it is not his tunnel, and he has not googled it. the rest of us, mostly google everything, to find a result. she talks to me nicely, when i ask her most things. astonished when she does not know. he will get it fixed in rochdale i went there once for sunday lunch on monday.…

move, leave a trace, a gesture.   make a song about the things that worry.   use your best voice to call and care.   most things leave a mark, then the next day we wash and clean.   even then something is missed. the mark is made.   sbm.    

at sea, it is a squall. i watched a programme all about dream fish. we need none. we have dreamed a while, made a little garden house, while mrs ciano is safe indooors. cosy, she is by the old books of course. where else would she be, still the rain pours, a draught at the…

during the day, sun shining, is this spring, or summer now? clearing the debris, painting it white. birds gather, as the radio plays. we dance in the greenhouse. sbm.  

mrs ciano is home, well one of them. some could say this is a forgery, yet she was invited, mrs ciano is multiplied, the answer is clear, may the fourth be with you today. we will empty the basket, put our things back in place. mrs ciano is at home, today. sbm.  

was at the national library of wales, you know, that big building in aberystwyth, just after bow street. they have a red carpet on the stairs, men standing at the base, to guard, to help you. tie the books in cases, stare at the black book  again.   mrs ciano is labelled, and no one…

we will not have blankets, if there are none, take the old rags, layer , stitch and stitch by hand till fingers bleed. work along the coast with thread and diligence. gather wools, layer carefully, we shall have warmth this winter. we will have quilts to share. sbm    

there are a few, those who should tidy, those who pump and clear, those who investigate. water beetles float their legs, paddle the river, dimpling surface. hang on the bridge , warming back and watch. water men wear high visibility, while the beetle shines black. lately we have cut the paths and planted bluebells. sbm.…

alongside gestures of despair, may communicate thought better. or worse? so lets  be singular enjoy our own space, and be friends, forever.   she says that you cannot see some people’s souls, perhaps we need to look harder. there is a lot going on. sbm.    

i searched for the ravages of time, it seems a phrase i have not used recently. it seems i ought to keep quiet, and get on with it any way. there are enough disturbances in the world, without another. butterflies. sbm.