Tag: dialogue (page 1 of 1)

We are planets. Some endure. Others
melt, or spin off course, like tops. I'm
one of those. This poem is my brand
new abstract moon, a satellite whose
strange attraction causes moods to
rise and fall like waves, abstract tides.

The truth is, by the wooden wharves,
even fishermen are gods. Inside each
plastic bucket, offerings to the moon.
Each hook's a hope or prayer; every
cast an arm around the shoulder of
a tearful stranger. I'm one of those.

Lightning is a kind of poem, a song
sung by clouds as they rub together.
I'm one of those. Shoes on cobbles,
words on the wind. Ask somebody
if they'd mind walking slowly. Who
knows, they might just say goodbye.

We're abstracts in each other's eye.
That's okay. You'll find a flower in
the smog; I can already hear little
white trees. Hands hold onto us.
You're the kind of person who sees
a single moon. I'm one of those too.

 Once I disappeared through a window you
 Left open. I went back to the space where we
 Once lived. You said don’t come back. 
 
 We returned after dark to the place where
 Lights were kept. You lost your way amongst things
 We had forgotten about. I said don’t worry. 
 
 Are we living or just walking around? You
 Perceived the darkness in my words. Perhaps we
 Are only pretending to breathe, I thought. 
 
 Living things flew around us. Somewhere
 I could hear singing. The lights came on like a 
 Living, breathing eye. You blinked, once. 
 
 We closed the window. Sounds switched 
 Off like eyes or lives. Then in that darkness 
 We held out our hands. Where were we? 
 
 Are you listening? Can you concentrate
 On this final instruction? Make sure your eyes
 Are open. Can you see the way ahead?  
 
 No thing answered. Sight disappeared.
 Drawing cryptic crosses on the invisible walls 
 No human hand had touched, I breathed. 
 
 Longer than the night, our journey was
 Repeated under stars. Your sighs were even
 Longer than lifetimes. We didn’t breathe. 
 
 Dead as a frosted bough, or the bird,
 Your footsteps ceased. The silence, like a 
 Dead bell in a building. I didn’t worry. 
 
 Once we are living we are no longer
 Dead. I whispered these words to myself.
 Once upon a time, you still breathed.