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how light behaves

this place is drenched in divinity,
it’s hidden just under everything.
my thoughts split themselves into infinity,
as if cabalistic commentary. meaning, direction, escaping me.
so, i’m 2am tiptoeing threadbare carpets,
scattered haphazard on creaking oak floorboards,
tealights in yellow glow soft gentle yellow,
and i’m whispering prayers to the ancient and spectral.

(i’ve always adored just how light behaves, how it moves through the world in mysterious ways)



i watched the whole world bloom into colour,
one season into another
looming lavender skies promised me thunder
springtime on the edge of the mountain.

then the days, growing softer and slower,
one season into another
humid evenings and wildflower honey,
like sticky-sweet accents, all foreign to me.

the last golden sigh of summer,
one season into another
a slow exhaling september
the last of the sunflowers bow their heads.

we pierce the darkest days of winter,
one season into another
holly, mistletoe, frost in the garden
then stained glass, then snowdrops, then soon enough spring.

the starlight motel?

i think my album is finished. i can’t quite believe it, but i am very proud of the thing and feel as if i’ve stepped up a little from the last one. i’m still trying to decide whether to call it ‘the starlight motel’, or ‘starlight and saltwater’, and i do need to make a decision rather quickly now, as the artwork is being made (by the most incredible girl) and i’ve got a trillion little booklets to pull together, too.

track listing:

  1. saltwater
  2. silver thread falls
  3. the starlight motel
  4. desert days
  5. moon lures the tide
  6. found on the lost coast
  7. star maps & sundials

it’s been a really interesting thing to make, because songs written in the desert sound very different to songs written by the sea, and it’s much less whimsical than quiet magic was (i think quiet magic was overly so), less dripping in wanderlust. but, i’m hoping they all come together and there is, i think, a thread that links them all quite nicely. it’ll probably be released in february, around my birthday. in other news, i just accidentally pulled the fourth leaf off a four leaf clover i’ve been keeping in a diary for years, so now i’m probably cursed.


celestial braid. november’s grace. palest sky all glass and lace.
the enshrined tide (starlight)
of an orbicular ocean
which will rush, rise, and subside
in perpetual devotion.
a silver sylvan siren’s whispered superstition
offering divine direction,
a path to dew drops and cyclamen,
my lost pool of Siloam.

the mirror breaks

then all at once, the mirror breaks
celestial patterns replicate
reflect then fracture on black waves
i raise the anchor, drop the sails
the night then draws its curtain down
the light stays where you are somehow
i think that i’ve known you before
love is a familiar shore


opalescent glass bead raindrops
shatter as they hit the surface
of the water, mirror still,
aureate, as autumn’s chill
spills over this seaside town
all sheets of gold between slate cloud
what is it that you think you’ve found?
the sun sets down his radiant crown.

star maps and sundials

you are the only constellation that i’ll ever understand,
you are my star map, you’re my sundial,
you’re the compass in my hand.
the luminous points of our lives strung together,
the sea breeze is carrying with it saltwater and wonder
the waves pool around at our feet
whispering at worlds we’ve yet to see.