Wishes

I went out walking when the night

was drawing in its coal black horns,

and grey as pale as winter cloud

was colouring the eastern sky.

 

I went out walking in the cold,

because the night had grown too old,

and birds were stirring, why not I?

 

I walked to where the river runs

beneath the bridge of golden stone,

and waited for the sun to rise

and broider lights of petal rose

among my thoughts gun metal dull.

 

I touched the wind, its biting breath

and tasted salt in every word,

I sang a song so silently

that only early sea gulls heard,

and they had little time for me.

 

At this ending of the year,

I catch the tail of falling stars

of leaves and plumes, fox flash of red,

and with a paintbrush wand I spread

the rainbow hues of light and life

and turn my back on all that’s dead.