Pick your way through the
Strange shapes
That constitute your consciousness:
The scattered papers in the crystal orb that is your right eye,
The pitted roads,
The ruinous stream of
Could-haves and should-haves
The plastic flowers in the sunless garden,
The house with the barred windows
And broken doors,
The animals sleeping in the undergrowth
(Dreaming of deadlines and ***** coffee cups),
The painted seas,
The polished cobblestones,
The particoloured scraps of cloth that are
Actually emotions,
The other people-luminescent, immobile-;
The old promises scrawled on misted mirrors.

Weave your way through it,
And Wonder,
And be glad,
And then,
Gather the papers, follow the roads,
Cross the stream, pick the flowers,
Look through the windows with an old torch,
Fix the doors,
Wake the animals,
Swim the seas, count the cobbles,
Pin the scraps of emotion to your collar,
Shine the crystals, and last of all,
Keep the promises.

And perhaps you won’t be that bored any more.

And I am suddenly sure that you walked these streets
With the same musing, searching expression
All those years ago
Looking and looking for love, and finding instead
Ephemeral beautifulness in everything…

And so, to continue to do what I try hard to-
Be worthy to even memory of you-
I try to see that beautifulness too.

I dreamt there were millions of
Bright little frogs
With jeweled-dew eyes
And glimmering legs that
Flashed and leapt about in your sea-kelp hair

And your skin was the brown of river-beds,
Warmed by midday winter-sun
And dappled like eels swimming

And your eyes held the liquor of pearls and amber
And the sting of scorpions
And the songs of river-stones

And in my dream,
There were *****
Like tiny polished pomegranates
Clasped in a long chain about your neck;
They skittered uneasily, whispering to one another
Of faith and betrayal

And your words, they were few,
Falling in indigo droplets-
Cool, distant
Murmuring
That held the secrets of the clouds

And you wanted me to understand
Something…
So urgently- something about death and what came after-
Beaches and endless sky, or purple meadows and pale stars,
Or just words perhaps…
I don’t remember
Except that it was sad.

And then I woke up-
Tears warm against my cheek,
Heart baffled by water-love and secrets,
And memory of a million bright little frogs
Glittering in your sea-kelp hair