You wanted to wake to

a brand new day,

melting on your tongue.

You wanted to go,

back. You wanted to go,

forward,

to where you’ve never been.

Cross the sea and

lose yourself

on meandering roads.

Find yourself

on wide flower verges

where once there were gypsies,

sleeping under green canvas,

sheltering from the sun.

You wanted to find

your own footsteps,

long taken by the tide,

then, came a shadow in the sun,

a memory dancing barefoot

on the sand.

You followed the memory to

the sand dunes, where,

she turned around,

inside a circle.

A broken circle, with an ending

and a beginning, but like the horses,

you were tethered.

Held back with a thousand threads

made of spider-web,

soft as silk, strong as wire.

Under the sand,

under the surface lies,

a silver blade.

Cutting the threads,

you watched your blood run,

sink into sand.

Lifting the knife to your lips,

you licked the blade,

the blade which

reflected your eyes.

Eyes which lost their spark

somewhere, between your fallen days.

Days, spent staring into a light bulb,

trying to renew the spark.

Days, spent falling to your knees,

convinced that your life was a blanket

you must lie down.

You walked around the blanket,

following the pattern,

day after day,

never leaving the lines,

afraid she should catch you

looking across the bay

afraid she should glimpse

your heart leap, inside your chest

and your well -meant words

would turn to sand.

Fine, red sand

falling through her fingers,

and returning

to the dunes

© D.E.Jordan 2009