The train driver is startled, and I
am not myself, my thumb
presses upon the rails

It's one of the trillions
of temporary states
of my consciousness

in which everything is allowed
and possible, in the childhood
of the universe

No you or me
how real is that?
A green door

is just art, made
from a piece of tree, exhibited
in pop-up museum earth

I watched secretly,

my grandpa was dead, he screamed:


three gold teeth pulled out.

Reading books you fly

in everywhere, completely --


without being seen.

In the large bookcase

the cat is choosing the scent --


to lie down and dream.

I hear your name in the whispers of the ocean;
The winds from the heavens carry it to me.
I hear it as a lullaby sung by the night,
But I do not understand it.

I smell your perfume in wistful memories.
I imagine the gentleness in your eyes.
I desire the warmth of your naked embrace,
But you are not real...yet.

My aching heart calls out your name.
My lips declare my love for you.
My soul livens up thinking of you,
And I understand without understanding

That though you are not here yet,
Though I cannot hold you close to me,
Though i cannot press my face into your tresses,
You are real to me.

As real as the rainbow is to the parched earth,
As real as heaven is to the broken sinner.
As the embrace is to the lonely heart,
As the hearth to the bedraggled soul.

As the dreams of romance lay dying
Among the embers of my youth,
I grasp at the will-o'-the-wisps in the night
And wait for you.

Will you come to me as I have imagined,
Clad in a beauty glorified by my dreams?
Or will you come as a soft caress,
Unnoticed at first, but lasting till the end?

Forgive me if I remain silent when you stand before me;
For the unspoken words of a lifetime are like an ocean within me,
And looking upon you, they will seep through my eyes
Or evaporate in the furnace of my heart's anguish.

Unitl then, I will keep thinking of you
Clutching close to my breast a pain that feels real.
I whisper with longing, your nameless name
Hoping the winds will carry it back to you.

The pregnant clouds rumble overhead,
The atmosphere as heavy as my heart.
The meagre light has long given up.
Bracing against the fierce icy winds,
I walk across the rocky plain.

A moment of stark stillness
As lightning forks across the sky;
And I see the ground gently dipping
Leading to a circular green depression
With black boulders strewn across

As thunder shakes the world
I take shelter under a rocky promontory
Jutting up from an edge of the circle
And wonder at the perfectly round boulders
Hewn by some giant in ages past.

As the dusk deepens,
And the winds die down,
And the world waits with bated breath,
The weariness of my mind takes me
And I slip into a restless sleep.

I wake to the sound of rain and music.
The night is as pitch.
But there is light swirling in the rocks,
Gold, red, blue and green,
Whirling around inside the hard blackness.

And as the colours dance,
I hear the sound of lutes and lyres,
Of harps and flutes and violas,
And of instruments whose beauty
Is not meant for the newer ages.

Thoughts come unbidden into my mind.
The music dredges up forgotten faces.
Lost voices rise up in my memory.
Futures wilt and dead pasts resurface,
And Regrets take root and flourish.

Vanquished by this wicked magic,
I bow my heavy head,
Hide my tears in my drawn up knees,
Hug myself against the onslaught
And drown in the deluge of that cruel symphony.

Creation: spirits

blowing bodies out of flesh --


and bottling themselves.