The morning arrived but the daylight never came.
For a moment I understood something about the world—then it disappeared.
Woken by noises on the roof, I looked out across the back garden, down the street towards the seafront.
Urban wildlife.
I went back to bed.
No longer separate,
but part of everything that moves.
A whole world passes between
that day and today.
Because sometimes belonging
is a story you grow back into
only after leaving.
And what we find
is not the place we left,
but the one we carried-
quietly,
the whole way back.
The past is still ahead of us.
Light always gets there first.
You can only start
from where you stand.
The rest arrives
slowly,
in the shape you’ve been waiting to remember.
Energy does not lie.
The work changes when I show up fully.
It stops needing my explanation—
but I still need the moment it meets someone.
Force without depth is only noise.
Anyone can scream.
The real question is what you’re saying.
Say it began with —
trucks and truck stops,
a gap in a fence hedge
where someone slipped through.
Vans. Garages.
My spirit raised
in a hilltop haze
to ease — oh, not then.
And then,
a lovely fluid hand.
Everything is shaky except for the minerals.
between one heartbeat and the next
we almost catch it,
the thing that passes,
the soul of compassion
that only discernment can hold.
