A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes.

There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

Diving in the abyss
Of your blue eyes
The waves of love that
Had longed
To crash upon me
Reared up high
And gulped me

if i'm dreaming
let me never be awaken
cos i'm in the  world where
i'm the one whos with an angel right now