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22.07.2010

Don’t you cry, love. Tomorrow
you shall rise naked and wild and strong
and fiercely brilliant
and make the world your home!
O’erspill wall-boxes, brim over into the storm.
Mould yourself to awkward spaces, flow into the unknown,
become the new, let strangeness become you,
teach your spine to fit all trees,
forget yourself to yourSelf.

What? Still clinging to an old pile of bricks? Why, ’tis but
sandy clay slapped round the Spirit and baked, hugging you,
a little too tight perhaps, leaving you frantic, gasping.
No need to lug it about as do those slumber-shelled garden gypsies.
Fly instead with the intense world-winds, led by that fine silken thread
Unravelling from within.

Pat Life on the back, prop your legs across its lap, pillow yourself upon
its breath, breathe.
Learn it consciously, casually,
like secret places of your body and cosy family smells,
the intimate taste of a lover’s drowsy breath
and your own bizarre thoughts (that see a kinship between the number nine
and your mother’s lips);
stray notions bobbling about your mind, holding water (just for you)
yet not quite sinking.

Uncork your Soul, let it foam out in a sparkling whisper
of Truth, immutably unbound, even
while all sleeps in the dreaming, teeming earth.
Turn your roots within.