When We Meet
in the streets
where hollow buildings
aflame ask
what do we do now
what do we say
outside the city
where land meets sea
birds are tearing the sky
to pieces
and all the alphabets
have fallen on the ground
lines lead to squares and circles
in the deep division
of the mad world here
round and round
the clusters of burning lights
flowing into the darkness.
In Search
of rhythm
the old poems tumble out
of the mind.
Like the black cupboard
in the green wall
I would climb
to sample the darkness
through the shelves
I would crawl
opening boxes
entranced by the silence
and lulled
by the softness there
lie back and dream
I guess I may have wanted
to be one of them
know what it was like
that sweet little red tin box
with the blue bird on its lid
quiet sitting in some cosy tree
in the sun
and the rows of medicines
with their intoxicating smell
taking me half a world away
until I begin to recognise
the bedsheets stacked till
the dark triangular roof
standing full of the softness
of welcome
telling me this is it
this is it
the real thing
the real universe
like a mother telling
her child
come
come home.
