My home, my selfhood’s dream sleeps on a stage
made up of songs left by the words that flew
along the windkept course they always knew
as letters lifting off from page to page.
I sight preambles immanent in age
and even out the odds within the hue
of sea and sky impelled to find the new
in old and smelting ripples of this rage.
It wasn’t what I thought I loved alone
and that much else besides kept creeping in;
their beams were firm and shaded by the trees
that grew from small beside the sacred stone
where I still know the petals that could sin
their claims to wings and spell the surge of bees.
11:01 pm 29 July 2010