I woke up and wished

but couldn't remember what

the night had done for me,

emerging crawling from a vat

submarine black and

shedding white spiders.

The vault stretches back,

circle beyond square beyond circle,

photographs framed

on every wall,

some have been put up

by enemies.

 

In the shattered remnants

of this cliff-face monument,

I keep walking between

coma and colour.

There has to be a seed

between the grains.

Then I find grass lamps

and electrical flowers that have remained

when all other has fallen to salt,

silt, sand. The red of fuschia,

cannons spreading quilts

on the beaten path.