Monday, 1 July 2013

The Frog In The Well

There come those dreams
Stars of change spiralling to earth
Splitting open as ripe fruit falling
So possessed, so freed, so alive.

To rediscover by touch
Phrases never spoken
Closing your eyes
Only the cries of wild geese.

A fallen feather
Sign of some deep inner flight
Quiet touches the ground
As night settling as if snow.

Silver wet and glistening
Branches and the ivy.
Rising late
To find a rainbow
Among sullen clouds.

The frog in the well
Knows nothing of the ocean,
Except for the pull of the moon.

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