1. A Mountain Pass
The poetry is closing in
And trapping words in limestone blue.
In mountain forests, catching clouds,
Words lose meanings, clouds lose rain.
The air is pulled through lips and teeth:
It bites the throat, it takes a road
Of sunlit snow through mountain tops.
The sounds may form, the thoughts will not.
How will I find a voice for this,
This pass which crosses through the peaks?
It used to be the only way,
Now purposeless its tracks are still.
As evening gathers clouds and flow
We hear the night birds call the snow.
2. The Impossible Swallows of Mount Razor
Against the backdrop of these cliffs
The swallows seem impossible.
As morning lights the highest peaks,
The swallows swirl and dance the more.
Because we know all this will end
We breathe the pollen scent of trees,
Make crystal memories of streams:
We try to find the solid ground.
Too soon the wings will fold and furl.
We’re living in the past again:
The passing through, the sleepless dreams.
We’ll stare at walls and hear the calls.
I close my eyes, there’s nothing there
But mountain birds in mountain air.
3. Ljubljana Airport
So this is where it all begins
(And for all that, it’s where it ends).
The spirit drifters check on through
To other times, to brand new lives.
The Forest Man is watching planes:
He has his papers and his pass.
You see the girl who shifts and frets?
She can’t believe she won’t be back.
You see the woman dressed in grey?
Her mysteries mean so little now.
She longs for shadows, hugs the wall.
The angel at her shoulder weeps.
A palimpsest of all who pass:
This stone and steel is first and last.
4. Sky Layers
The edge of air lays curved and dark:
An empty hell of frozen lungs.
Above the highest birds and planes:
A point where science fiction ends.
Beneath the earth-rim, filters fade
The black of space – a lighter grey.
It sucks the clouds up from below:
Their hazing emptiness is filled.
Then further down through mists, the clouds
Begin congealing, blowing knots,
And twist themselves in rain and storms:
There, where light and silence stops.
And last – inconsequential – lies
The thinnest layer, the layer of lives.