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none of the head angels liked looking
after the flowers. there was never enough
water in heaven for them.

then ian dream remembered:

go under the meadow
over the wave

you will arrive at station 4
press the blue button
and the flowers will automatically
be watered.

tea the angel rushed to try it out.
he pressed the blue button
and the springs for the flowers flowed.

the flowers in heaven started singing
with happiness and it was so beautiful
everyone cried.
the river overflows down to the sea,      
a wintry song to tame the reveled night,
and born of love the stars blaze ever bright,
with soft-ringed beams that sigh like poetry.
dark woven hour, how you inspire me,
the midnight gleams with pools of paean light,
the drowsy moon is shining filmy-white,
the woodlands shrink and dream of sanctuary.
arise on arching wings, oh, song once sung,  
oh, water sprite, oh, lily of the vale,
you pine for love, the forest weaves a spell,
unearthly voice of honey throat and tongue
  i hear you whisper, sing your wild, wild tale,      
  then bid the world goodbye and sweet farewell.
i stare to sea where autumn's night-winds tease
and sea waves crash and run with all their fire,
i feel a sense of rest that doesn't tire,
caught up in sea-rose reds and heady breeze
and like the fiery waves and sea-blown trees
this love of flames that once burnt with desire
now nothing seems, all fallen though once higher
than love's sweet dream that waking quickly flees!
oh, love's sweet dream! the metronome-like waves
beat like a pulse, a love of moon and tide,
the whispered song has faded, bitter-sweet
and drowsy as the water near my feet,
magnolia now blooms near these old graves
and i no longer yearn to be his bride.
the hidden staircase fascinated me,
the wooden steps, oak panels on the wall,
behind an unexpected door you couldn’t see,
a narrow entrance in the spacious hall.
who ever would have thought to find it here,
a masterpiece of silent secrecy,
whose trepidation full of pounding fear
climbed up those stairs in frightened urgency?
while candles drip hot wax from chandeliers
they gallop in the night, the carriage wheel
leaves furrows in the mud, whose trembling ears
await the sweeping toll-bells heavy peel?
and as the night drifts ever closer in,
who bolts the windows, deafens out the din?
boy, i give you a blowing rose,
a glittering star,

the autumn shakes and glides,
hangs on leaves, waters the
sun,

the stars tremor in the water,
breathe of sky and silver bird,

the night is a closed eye, a
river of frost,
where the dark, born
of root and winding dream,
stretches like a flower,

in our love we found a
leafy woodland lane,
we strided the skies like
birds of dream,

love hung from our lips,
the white ribs of the breeze
holding our burning hearts,

love so raw it flowered,
opening out like an origami
swan,

the shadows lengthen,
dissolve into wooden gate
and hollowed out tree.
the night’s stones weigh
heavy like the cloud -

everything sinks.  

the cry of a bird -
eerie like a ghost -

the night speaks
of autumn, of windows
now shuttered to the
stars, of leaves painted
silver and gold.

a cat wires his claws to the
dark, drops down from a wall,
lands with his fur full of sky.
the sea with her songs and her freedom,
a rose in the desert tonight,

while the night with her beauteous wisdom,
holds the sky like the wings of a kite,


the moon is a ghost white and eerie,
skies carry the bird’s weary cry,

while the clouds dream of rain, brimming teary,
with each hollow sigh.


our love lies like ash long departed
and freedom's the wilds of the coast

and the sky where the swallow once darted,
has no star with their silvery frost,


oh, lover no love then could ever
be wiser or bolder than ours,

or lost as quickly with each new endeavour,
bewitched like the flo'ers.



so lover i wait here forever,
where the waves of the blue ocean swell,

a bride to the storm and the ether,
my song the sea's silvery knell,


for the muse sings of darkness forever,
and dark is the song ever sung,

and the sea finds its bow and its quiver,
and air fills her lung.


i'll wrap all my dreams in white paper,
and carefully tie with a bow,

then lay them all out with the ashes,
that lie where the wild berries grow,


and no one will ever e'er find me
and i will be lost in the end,

torn under the coast where the seas be
the voice of the land.


night grows from the death of the evening,
evening carries her stars and her seas,

the morning without ever seeming,
delights the bright sighs of the breeze,


dark voice of the sky and the landscape,
dark eye of the turbulent sea,

moon emperor, discoverer, wan dreamscape,
love jealous and free.
“where summer’s bronzes dull and sink”

the trees are like
wet coat hangers,
holding up the leaves,

my cat is frosty like
an october morn,
sleeping on the sill,

everything is dripping
like a wet pair of
jeans taken out of the wash,

the sky wears its greys
of cloud, dim and dramatic
it opens summer eyes.
the forests of sun
lift their branches to the sky -
a stone fountain's tears.
the stream is a pretty
mirror, the sky, sweet
sister to the moon,
slumbers in her
arbour where roses
flower mightily, in
love with the night
and the cloud.
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