We are daydreaming

in the imitation cave --


of the Grand Hotel.

I undress and see nothing of me
       in the clothes neatly laid out
       next to each other to put back on

underwear is underwear, trousers trousers
if there is anything special about it
it is just that
      
there are no marks on it, I don't advertise
I unstitch myself free
pick the lint from my clothes
      
out of my navel, the belly is cool, I feel
myself, breast is breast, cheek cheek
but my belly, that's me

my hands know it
better than my eyes
that do recognize my face
      
as mine, everywhere
where I am, nowhere for sale
but it is veiled now

I am tired, I want rest
having nothing to do with anyone
and still
      
love myself

Sunday is a day of rest
when you work at home to make it the best

Sunday is a day of peace
but in pointless wars killing does not cease

Sunday is a day to recover
from one too many drinks plus another

Sunday is laying late in bed
but the kids ned to be washed and fed

Sunday is a walk in the park
with thousands of others, it's best after dark

Sunday is family time
that you spend in the company of partners in crime

Sunday what more can I say
a day of rest before another working day

With a kisby ring

I am floating in the pond --


Among the lilies.

A nice reunion,

on the pier, babbling water --


and a quacking duck.

Guarded by the movement all around me
I sleep under the sun in the breeze
My body on small stones on the beach, not yet aching,
Relaxing and embracing the unknown.

Ducks walking along the river bank,
Exploring,
As boats and kanus move past the shore
Where I rest on this peaceful afternoon,

Welcomed by the movement all around me.

If I could
Then I would kiss your green and living lips with words
take the notes of garden birds and wrap myself in song
bend the trees and bid them do my written will,
caress your honeyed stones to better hear thy whispered tune,
held within my grateful arms from thatch to cobbled floor
safe inside your ancient door and mullioned charms
I need no more