A poem for Jilly’s Jim Harrison bonanza. Don’t ask me why the words inspired this reaction, they just did.
“I love the tracks left by hundreds of species of birds that remain in the air like we do.”
You say you watch me sleeping,
but do you see the colour of my dreams,
and feel the wind rush through my pinions?
Would you follow me just because?
On waking you are there with breakfast and projects,
And the smile you bestow on all the world,
on me, the postman, or next door’s cat.
I stare at my toast,
for you, the most solid, real thing
in this spring morning of racing cloud
and torrents of wind, drenching the wild branches.
You stroke my hand, somewhere in another galaxy,
luxuriating in the aroma of your coffee,
the dancing treetops, whisking the clouds to creamed butter,
a peripheral distraction—
a hail of meteorites,
a cloud of midges.
I leave my toast and fly with the gusty wind,
In my wake, a trail of fiery crumbs
and the scent of boiled coffee,
And you will never know,
that when I said I would bring you back a star,
I meant it.