I call it the Changeover;
like an analogue radio searching for a signal
sometimes it's clear
sometimes it's static
sometimes it's in between
somewhere between far away and near
somewhere lost in the middle
between Signal and Static.

Clear Day the signal reaches out its arms as far as the eye can see
and the ears can hear
and the senses can feel
and taste buds pop and linger
and revel in new experience
and comfort in knowing
and wrapped in wonderment.

Changeover Day is somewhere between Clear Day and Nowhere
struggling to tune in
backwards or forwards
or sideways or upwards
to something
to anything that resembles a signal
like hearing voices in another room
an argument through a wall
the indecipherable murmur of music
the clamber of ushered noise
the mishmash and cacophony
like a symphony of Morse code.

Static Day is dark day
there is no signal
no senses
no sound
only indeterminate fuzz
and the crackle of broken glass
and the foghorn
and the white noise
the confusion and delusion
the paranoia of shifting jigsaws
changing pieces that never fit together
can almost make out a face through the frosted glass
the smear like bird **** on a window
halfheartedly wiped with lackadaisical whimsy
and greasy chip shop newspaper.

In the Static there is no wind
no heart to beat
no empathy or sympathy
just
cold
hard
steel
out of place in a room of feathers and feeling.

You just have to ride out the storm
tell yourself:
it'll be calm soon
it'll be calm soon
it'll be calm soon

The Changeover
from Static to Signal
and the welcome return of voices
and breathing
and beating
and feeling.

Verily we are suspended
to one another invisibly threaded
gold spun, finely woven
we breathe the air of summer
silken petaled, softly subtle
through these woods treading sun dappled
we come to rest, in a rosy heaven
lose the world of whirling much too fast
to gain the moment, lose the future and the past.

Lay me down beside my love to sleep.
Close my eyelids gently, let me weep.
Mend my broken heart that I can grieve,
For her kisses may I no longer receive.

And prepared is that eternal bed,
Where my dear shall lay her lovely head.
Now lay me down beside my love to sleep.
Close my eyelids gently, let me weep.

My love, my love, mon petit amour,
Never again shall I meet one so true.
So lay me down beside my love to sleep.
Leave me with precious memories to keep.

Oh, should I have a dress made of sunlight,
Embellished with dewdrops from heaven;
And a crown on my head full of stardust,
From stars that will dance on my head top.

The morning shall curtsy to me,
I, the maiden of light.
The sky will acknowledge my presence.
The earth will rejoice with the heavens.

Oh, should I have a dress made of sunlight
and the stars atop my head,
I could gnash my teeth at darkness,
and darkness will run and hide.