I could have left a note
but it’s windy over there near the bay
You’ll be back before the melting
they remind us every day anyway
I listen to Neve and The Deer Children
sing songs in a language I do not understand
Which path did you choose at the crossroad
I wonder over morning coffee
Where is her other hand you’ll probably ask
when you arrive and find my sign
Why are there no footprints
either coming or going
With each step you draw ever near Wind whispers come on lean into your edges Filtered light leads you along this one way path Hum your melancholy melody in a minor key You are not lost just drifting through This place is everywhere and nowhere Cross that emerald pond to another side Your horse with wings waits there for you to ride
When all the rivers overflow
where does all that water go?
In time we return to from where we came
leave Earth to heal by rain
water flood and flame.
Hey hey
You you
Get up
Stand up
Pick up
your slim
blue pencil
I need a ride
I need you to
write me over
to the Other Side.
I dreamed
a cavernous theatre
where people bid
on others’ colourless goods.
Neither selling
nor buying,
I gripped a framed photo
of someone else’s child.
Then rang
a dinner bell
or a warning.
We carried our
own chairs
shuffle forming
a crowded single line
near the double handled wooden door.
And someone
from far away,
a voice I thought I knew,
shouted stood unbalanced unsteady
waving two open hands:
“before leaving, each one of you
must take and hold me close—-
I am Old Soft Familiar
your fellow (wo)Man”.
Pencil Notes 