to fly to london,
read books by kafka
and voltaire
and argue over
the insubstantialness
of what justifies love and life
under cherry blossoms in osaka
and wattle trees in darwin
we'll take shade under
hopeful
and utterly
free.
no-one waits for strangers at bus-stops.
vultures will steal your bags before this comes to pass.
the apocalypse is stained with belief and rhetoric
i've seen on the pavement
beneath bulldozed fields raised to ceres and isis
and forgotten earth mothers with different names,
beyond shells and beads made of amber and citrine:
hematite for the blood, diamonds for clarity,
turquoise for endless sea
rising up.
i carve words. you sing. i dance.
you walk circles and call it a journey for squares.
i cartwheel on sand, sink fingers under
to be bitten by crabs. you hold a tambourine
and threaten to ring
the silliness away.
of ocean and banshees.
horns and goatskin drums.
the futility of luck waltzing through my door.
the scent of chalky cliffs in dover
i'll never see.
where are the floods i've seen?
wash over me.
___________________________________________________________
|