Let's keep the light we're given
When our stores of words are fled
Empty as a musical box
Or a box for housing the dead;
When the bridge between giving and taking
Has crumpled in the dust-prints of mouse.
A Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie.
Then all of our days are a struggle: to walk
And to dream and to think; when the gates of the new
Jerusalem appear blinking on the brink.
Will you follow my heart through this lingering death
With colours and music and words?
Will the feel of the will-o'-the-wisp on skin
Cause blackouts and atonal tears??
Help me to know the glimmering-ghost-light
As a feeling that stutters along....
As it flits from the merest echo of pitch
Into a fully-fledged minor chord song.
Images gleaned from memory
Flutter with those plucked today
As I gaze into fire
Flames leaping away:
Still watches of the night
Houses become silent,
Time passes by,
Into sprinkling gyres
Of light in the northern sky.