in my dream, we have no eyes for blind mice
and that's nice, if you ain't got three, and a grand clock
but we lived in the pendulum of an arc in a long box
laid to rest in a deep room of rich soil, and dumb rocks.
the dream bent, where i stepped aside from my suspicions
that you had eyes in your pockets. while i had only holes...
and paper cranes.
i keep the moss on my fingertips, when i dig into the sky -
to find your face.
and that's nice, if you ain't been grounded; stuck in a fugly glut
of gravity's finest hits. pinned to the wings of a butterfly, pinned-
to an anvil... strapped to a georgia peach.
you always have the shark fin soup, as i graze the pit.
as the pit gazed into me. you sip a bit, n'swell your cheeks.
we are nothing like our waking lives
while sleeping so truthfully.

somehow we're on the beach. where it never started. but deja vu
as if remembering the beach. and forget how we have not the eyes
for blind mice save the eyes in your pocket
while i have all the holes
that you need.

and paper cranes.

II

the bleeding has stopped, where a spear kissed an artery too violently
and shook loose my red roving rivers of rebellious reveries. stopped - and now it's a knot's petty game. it extends my life just to mock complete
Happiness. but i peep the same. i know the moon is the only sister that has my back.
where i have slept
beneath her...
dreaming on earth
dreaming on earth

dreaming, alas*....

Allow me to rest
by the shores
of your friendship

I have walked
day and night
to get here

I know you are tired too
your journey preceded
you have been waiting

rest on my shoulder
another
will come along
with three glasses
of lemonade

On a New Year's Day in Reykjavik
I stood at the very top of that old city,
intending to visit the Cathedral there.

All at once, there it was. And it was in charge.

A gust of wind so strong that it grabbed and
  slid me, speeding across several metres of ice,
only to slam, face first, into the broad chest
of a resident British Embassy staffer.

Genially, he smiled down and introduced
himself with gentlemanly aplomb.
No wonder they had an empire. At least for a while.

Oh, that wind! Ever seen snow moving horizontally?
Or felt a hole being drilled, in one ear, almost out the other?

Deep in the ancient countryside, on the way to the sea,
is a lonely valley, held captive by the power of a brutal
Gigantic troll. There, this wind has its greatest rival.

Even if you can't see them, just tell me you don't feel them...

In Reykholt now, that bullying wind buffets a cozy house,
but to no avail, for angels watch over a newborn baby girl.

Her mother, just a girl when we first met,  
now sings tenderly to her own new daughter.
Both are princesses of this beautiful island country.

Finding kindness, that tough old wind has sent
Halldora's lullaby across the open ocean,
  over wide blue skies, and onto this snowy prairie
where I hear it and cradle it softly, and so gently, to my heart.