Keep the light we’re given
when our store of words is fled
empty as a music box
a box to house the dead;

The bridge between give and take
has crumpled into mouse.
a wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie.
a dream we daren't let out.

Our days are a struggle: to walk
 to dream, to think; when the gates of the new
Jerusalem appear we're blinking on the brink.

Will you follow my heart through a lingering death
with colours and music and words we forget?
Will the feel of the will-o’-the-wisp on skin
cause blackouts, atonal tears and the grim

a feeling that stuffles along,
flits from the merest echo of pitch,
speaks in tongues?

A fully-fledged minor chord song.
made of Images gleaned from the sea
tones that stutter, plucked away today,
flames keep away from me:

Watch the moment fade away
in the silence of the day
sprinkling gyres
as we pray.





◄ A dream of sand

The Incidentals ►


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John Marks

Sun 13th Jun 2021 12:48

Thank you Kathy, Holden, Stephen A and Mona.

“To define is to kill. To suggest is to create.”
― Stéphane Mallarmé

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