On my way home
he was standing there
at the edge of the room
of vision lore
a great mysterious appearing door
not known to exist before .
I shut my eyes tight
the sun struck the sepia shore
life held so safely
by curtains of doves
fluttering above
like echoes ” this is all for you ” more .
Her feet he held
bared on the quiet site
upon placed winged slippers of white
she was paralyzed, no sound
God , are you watching what we do ?
the graveyard appeared by a stream
the dragonfly skimming blue wings
ripples moved the shocked world
in weavings calm
and her feet left the ground
He was standing there
at the edge of the room
on my way home.
The light was naked , neon
the taste , blood pudding
the smell of sugarcane and mud
the dilemma of drums
a forest filled with sleeping bugs .
He stood there
at the edge of the room
on my way home .
