Garden Statues

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
soaring
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
keyboard

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
Routine returned

And silence reigned

London 5th April, 2006