Between the last night
and the first night...
a lake of tranquility...
Leave that glass of memory to memory -
let its essence transmute all these nights into gold
Leave the voice of Ali Farka Toure
through the silvered light of that room,
a room inlaid with the jewels of minutes and hours
Leave your hands lost in the fleeting characters of a
Leave that wooden rocking-horse
the old teddy-bear propped on a chair
the neighbouring gardens
Leave the sun still toying with the sky at eight in the evening
Leave the window open
on a morning arrayed with morning
Leave that flower labouring to consume you
Leave the peacock emblazoned on a field of beauty
Leave.... .... ....
Whatever little time is left
will never return...
These jewels cannot return
Thirst will not be slaked by the distant glimpse of a sail
And when you left
you were burnished,
you were consumed and yet complete,
you were fashioned from mother-of-pearl
Then, suddenly, once again,
you were downcast in clay
Weekdays returned, empty handed
And silence reigned
London 5th April, 2006