If you came home, every night with the smell of oil paints wrapped up in your hair and turpentine and linseed linseed linseed oil I would never have to move again transported to the place where it all begins
I don’t need to see what you’ve created I already know it, I see the sparks jump from tree to tree this is how the world is set on fire looking down into my palms there is a glow that I had forgotten about until you brought your smell into my home
led on by this against the vale of shade one person sees and says: good luck with that! you’ll be eaten alive! Who do you think you’re kidding?
The next one says: we are born to suffer, born to die the ocean wave is just too large swim brave swimmer, and I feel for you but against this tide there is no homecoming to be had-
and the last one sees the glowing shine of my outstretched hands making my face an open book showing just one step or two, and no more than that, and says: Is this Light? It must be Light! The Darkness was a lie after all! She shrugs her way out from beneath the oldest cloak she opens the gate that doesn’t shut again and looking down her hands come to life and light her eyes
jumping quickly tree to tree unnoticed by most, beneath their load the spark runs fast and you hear laughter as against all habit the sleepy world is set on fire again