We left the cries to find the heart,
And headed north to pillars new:
Then found the place we hoped would be,
But never thought, could never see.

We rang the bell and crawled inside
To lovers high on nightly gin,
Of skies and breathing honey beds
In snow of old, yet newly fed.

The turkish camel coat addressed
As if to speak, or clear its throat,
And love returned in dripping burns
As stifled memories to learn.

Night shining over wandʼring eyes
As clever owls fought natureʼs minds –
Yet silent, fearing grassy tombs
Of clouds coersed by butter-wombs.

Together praying into webs
Of mothball eggs on pillow heads,
We cried aloud to desert ears
In barking cracked and willow tears:

Please let us leap into that mound,
And be devoured by deathʼs delights,
By Natureʼs past, where love the song
As manʼs dry fear, in graves belong.

The beacon, as a lover, turned to dust,
Yet spoke in language without sound
To say, you may return to love or lust,
But never to your wishes – all was still.


February 1977 (as amended)
© Michael G Reid 1977-2011