II

I was swaddled in your arms when the high
Watery ocean engulfed me. I was drowning
Beneath fading speckled stars when the
Water swathed chokingly upon us: heavy, mighty,
Immeasurably huge and surprising like the fallen sky,
While we were wrapped together. Then we were scarcely infants
As this happened; both amazed, appalled; I never needed air since

We were only travelling figuratively at first. Fingers
Interlaced weaving betwixt one another like limbs of a tree
We, planning gayly, outlandishly our imaginings: a Saxon
Fathoming inventively, postulating the impossibilities
Of the night sky. As us first so thrillingly ignorant of the tide coming now
The rushing and imminent clap of vast and Godly waters upon our brows.

Such music crept by me upon the waters. Your song so
Sweet, softly lulling to me in sleep. The music drew me
Further and I saw the sun rise twice, the moon spin fully,
The bleak fall of man blown into billowing clouds of sand

And I hear the soft wind singing through the trees. Your steps
On the Earth renders its voice and rotation as from a different breed.
With it this life transforms into something not understood
Since Eden, which infinitely shan’t be; you bring me
Into a different kind of realm: contentment, companionship here dictates
And mediates this new rhythm, new fabrication of the life which makes

New textures; winding themselves together, senses
I never realised without your hand to lend me feel them
And you in my imprint holding me warmly. I was pensive –
Thinking by the stream as it rained yesterday. My thoughts
Spoke through your voice inside my head. When my palm rested on your chest
I felt the throb of my heart beat matching my fingertips’ pulsing blood. The best

Of me was made by you, who said “be happy with yourself, I am,
And love you too”, so made ‘identity’, at once dissolved it, made it free.
Your solemn dark eyes stare through my own: gaze back at me,
Your fears, shames and uncertainties rack me in my dreams
Whilst I feel your fingers stroke the old and fading scars of mine, do not dread
What is past or is to come or happening. The water obscures all, what is left

That is certainly pure is only you. You see the girl, bored
With imperfections, rife with accusations, sullenness and
Resent, and love her anyway. And like from frogs in fairy-tales
Of high and cliched days cure her by making her new. Making nothing
Thank you, you wavering distant phantom. Love, saviour, we may be sent

Spinning at the whim of deep ocean swells, but in spinning as one
I need not be sure, not even think of to which shore; when, where or whether
We will come.
For this is knowledge enough. And now all my knowing is done.

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About SKYDEA CLOUD

Current affairs, controversialities, politics and poetry: thinking about issues and questions facing the world today.
This entry was posted in Poetry, Writing and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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