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There are waves,
– Heavy and pregnant, and full with their pregnancy,
Incredible and active, though in tranquility,
They remain.

There is a man, and there’s a man
– One full-grown and standing
Streaming words that are nobody’s but his own
And tapping at things with wooden sticks.
The other is seated, and somehow alone,
Growing and growing and not yet grown;
Weaving dreams with his fingers in a unified moan
and I sit,
Here, aware,
Undoubtedly, but also there
– Alive in a belt of lumosity between
Nowhere and everywhere that’s ever been,
Clutching pencils with no need for paper,
For visions sift in, and cover the space
That the closing of eyes seems to create.

There’s a wolf that howls,
In sync with the sounds
Pouring into and out of the room.
The wolf is a-howling
At the foot of a mountain –
Sending songs to a big, balding moon.
My mind is a fish, and my mind is a fountain, and my mind is forever a womb.
Somewhere below, there’s a crowd
– Entwined in solidarity
And chanting unanimously
In a harmony so close to perfection,
That it almost is.
Dressed all in white as though white was all, they ooze their endless caterwaul.

And still I sit, in the very same spot
Someplace between the found and the lost,
Breathing deep through the dreams that I’d dreamt I’d forgot,
With eyelashes touching,
And inside-eyes watching
The riddlimages sent forth from outside.

When the waves morphed to flames
All I knew was the fire,
I tried to turn back, but could only climb higher,
And higher still through the blazing storm,
To find that what heat can not burn, it will warm.
And somewhere, mid-way through the ascent
A sparkling little angel was sent,
Through prophecy, or by accident
– It does no good to question why
It fell down to greet me from it’s seat of the sky,
As unafraid of combustion as I.
And for a spell, we named each other home
‘Til my hooves grew itchy, and begged only to roam,
And so I swept them on outside to say
Hullo to the sun, spilling out a new day
– With my cosmic sister in cosmic hands
Chirping and twittering in cosmic play,
Spitting funny little languages in strange little songs,
Each knowing other through cosmic bonds,
That even long-time-no-see can’t devour,
Though it’s teeth are so sharp; so deceptively strong
And it’s belly so hungry and big,
– Love has always eluded it’s power,
And so it does, and will, and so
it did.

Then there were trees – such dizzying trees!
Bending and sighing between breaths of a breeze,
Until every bough falls upon my face,
Swatting away the old ache of youthful mistakes,
And leaving great solar droplets to live in their place.
There is one – one tree – that to eyes may seem small
But to the heart is unspeakably tall,
For it doesn’t just stand,
But stands
for something.
It’s branches are coated in thick dusts of pink.
The first blossom
I have seen
Since the snows began
More time ago
Than my fingers
Can even count.

There is a river
And a water-fall
Birds flying in cirlces,
And cooing a call.
Something’s come home,
And that is all.


© Alisha Riley 2012