The sand sweeps across the pavement and over our trainers as we scan the beach and the laughing waves. You lean on the railing next to me, talking about how our heads never bumped in the years we’ve worked together and how it’s only now we finally see we had a friend there all along. Mr Crow stalks up behind you, eyeing the decorative chains on your trousers, captivated by the sun’s glint that has also clutched my attention. I point him out and we watch him strut, then make our own way back along the front. Those chains of yours clink together as we walk, side by side and in step, not knowing how close we are until our shoulders touch.
The nexus lay between ego and heat,
focusing on sweet nougats resembling gold.
The age of trees hidden, wars wiping it
ending in a draw that caused piles of wilted tulips
to stand as wards against any
trying to re-open the door.
The rain has filled up the circus tent, lithe
figures walking out of the wet floor to take their positions in the ring.
Spotlights create mirrors as they climb up thin vines
to the trapeze at the top. Aerial acrobatics
for anyone wanting to watch, energy matching
the stink of old straw, popcorn and tinsel pompoms left behind.
Outside, the sun breaks through and sends evening’s fire
around the grounds, sneaking into the big top as the act begins.
The performer jumps and evaporates, nothing more than steam.
The fire crackles in the grate,
shadows dancing with smoke tendrils as she reads
aloud, cloaked figures sneaking through her voice
to my wondering ears
as I cling to the embroidered arm of her chair.
The ritual nightly, yet never dull.
I play with the bobble on her slippers as she pauses to sip
Lady Grey from her fine china cup
then places it back on the saucer.
Resuming her place as though no pause had been taken
she leads me into the night
to meet the King of Dreams.
When I wake, the fire is dead
and her chair is cold,
its colours faded.
The grass blades are rapiers
doused in mercury.
I choose to walk with dragon-scale shoes
to that soft mound
covering the stone I’ve looked on so often.
I remember you next to me, bright eyes.
Remember the heat of your breath on my neck,
the charge to your fur that would crack blue
if I wasn’t careful,
scolding my fingers.
The thud of paws still vibrates through the ground
with every step away
We float around in our little heads,
conjuring images from things long said
and if the circuit board
should ever be damaged
wiping our memories
both sweet and savage,
we know that time often heals
with due care, sensible practices and steady meals.
Even if we’re unsure what we’re seeking
we can still approach the stars with proper greeting.
I took that day and framed it,
up on my wall
as a light to look at
when the darkness tries to eat me up.
I use it as a dream catcher,
with wonderful memories
and future promises.
And the antlers have been shed,
the fog receding
until clarity blinks back into view.
Looking over the valley
I can see where the river was birthed,
flowing straight to the point we’re now at
and continuing on
fierce and full and forever
Do you think if I hit the bell,
it’ll open up a portal to you?
That’s what I’d wish for, in this wishing well
that occupies one space
but is in two places at once.
I wonder, will you hear the bell ring?
I think you would, and you’d know it was me
because who else
would use up every spare penny in their purse
on the off chance that you’d be passing by
on your side
and discover its peal?
You might not see me,
but you’ll still see me.
My image, try after try,
my pout every time I fail,
my delight when it finally hits.
It may not open an actual portal,
but maybe, for now,
this is enough.
Enough for us both to cling to,
until our paths shift indefinitely
onto the same track.
Our covers are soft,
they call us under
to the secret land known only as
It’s a place of whispers,
a cave of dreams,
an escape from reality for those
While we’re there,
wrapped in each other’s arms,
all I know is your love keeping
When we return,
drowsy but content,
I remember the time there we