Spoon the Air

Not all arrangements
Grow subterranean roots
But crack and fan unfinished
Take risks
Spoon the air

As if to emerge from or return to
The earth aren’t the same thing but
A slow dance together
At the end of the night—
Remember our long nights?
And mornings that felt like night?
Holding each other
Without each other, collapsing
Arrangements collapsing in silk cascades

What are the colours of our nature?
The futile desire to describe their smells
An olfactory abstraction
An occidental condition
I’ll describe them
By their power of attraction
Their shape
And the spaces they fill:

Our rosey-lit nostrils
The backs of our mouths
The tips of our tongues
The creases of our lips
Lingering the next day on
Our fingers
Like new love

Tasting origins of
Barn floors warmed by milked bodies
Marauding vines, clinging alchemy
On salt splattered cliffs
The crisp haze of grass beds
Always fragrant, pungent, perfumed


  • Written for the inaugural exhibition and meal at Native, Perpignan, 3 – 9 September 2019