Monday, 8 March 2010


Across the song of how morningflow flutters today,
a goose sweeps high above
in a play of lullaby caress,
his face; a voice, a vogue,
a silhouette of how the world connects.

Send me asleep across the land,
sail me into a deep imaginary wonder
where oceans composed of cool vibrant flowers
and whirlings of saphire, cool her charms,
as we wander,
in blankets of glazed dawning celebration
upon the sands of golden.

and from this place, mist figures arise
composing themselves in a terror,
which soon turns to thunder and vice
beneath the weight of their own expectations;
salted limbs exist from where water is sourced,
their nightingale lies are deep places of the weep.

May sound be a guardian to our pour of pooling eyes
and protect us from vigour and lack of thought.
The twist and solitude within which i rise
are nothing compared to the deep in which i subside.

But the flowers that form the thoughts that grow out of my ears
are really where this formation stands.
The air is bright today,
as it always is,
when i open my eyes.