Me and the Little Hand

The window I first saw as green,
Flickered, became, bright yellow
Then purple; it now shows me black –
Or – had I eyes to see it clearly –
Much worse – it might be blank.

The spirit that crosses mountains
More easily than soldiers,
That passed whispered “darlings” and
“Forevers” between us in secret
Dockside rendezvous, still
Dances in her, spills endlessly
From her in silken sheet smiles,
Trembling on the brink of more:
Adventure, climax, sin, betrayal.

It was never the window altering:
It was me: me and the little hand
Moving on.

8/12/2012

December is …

.. a sturdy-looking bridge,

Promising support and safe passage

To further sanctuary bank,

But trips you with secret ice traps,

Throws you down and

Chills your heart and soul …

 

… a magnificent horizon-wide bonfire:

Wholesome company, delightful magic and

Warm soup camaraderie –

All long gone by the time you get there:

Just the distant mocking stars

Looking down, sneering…

 

… a fierce-barbed fence, you knew

Had to be there, but which surprised you, anyway;

Bringing you up sharply,

Making you pause to think,

Forcing decision’s risky dice throws:

Go back?

Climb over?

Go round?

 

… a frameless window with high, wide views

That, while you watch,

Becomes a mirror:

Throws you back,

Unexpectedly, violently

Against yourself …

 

… a one way, northbound nose bleed ticket

For deck space on a dark-light

Iceberg clipper, heading for the

January border, so near, yet so far away.

Sleep well skipper;

Fare well fellow passengers,

We’re all in this together.

 

30/11/2012