Spring comes, and
woos the bougainvillaeas away
courting bees and dancing butterflies
in their own kaleidoscopes of rain
and summer would sweep the rice fields dry
washing down the cascades of eternity
tumbling into the weight of their knees
fearful just––

Mum would speak of distant memories
forgotten oceans and blinding seas
the salt on your lips and the wash of the waves
burning into the heat of the day



––and we would soak our dreams in the idleness of summer
wander the ellipses and the dunes that were lost
grinding our toes into ever cooler sand
letting them sink deeper

Lifetimes would pass in an instant of thought
flashing by prairies of dancing light
striking in our eyes in countless shades of colour
painting the sky.