P.T.O

I remember that inaugural night – when the rain gods danced narcoleptic, and the children stood like men buying war with the thinness of their eyes.

anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn’t he danced his did. Women and men(both little and small)  cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same  sun moon stars rain  children guessed (but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf  she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone’s any was all to her  someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then) they said their nevers they slept their dream  stars rain sun moon  (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember  with up so floating many bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes  Women and men (both dong and ding)  summer autumn winter spring  reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain

Or the finger smooth touch of a rare green jewel, I could never be told was glass. And you, the Sun Queen, knowing them all as the image of relatives passed.

And the birds fall silent with your passing, portraits of themselves, uncarving the motion of dusty liberties finally set to wild.

And in this breathing  the figures emerge  of petal and style and stigma and stem,  congealing in our eyes, the World undisturbed as always, goes on: the flickering grass goes slowly unseen. You outline a steamer,  ghostly and gliding, and  in whisper-tones you sing:  ‘We could navigate through the seas with none but imaginings.’ And the uncounted third who walks beside you,  always beside,  whose name was Magus  whispered words I could not hear nor see.  The twisted weeds  that were his eyes  grow silently unseen. And in this breath  the figures wilt  with nectarous frailty.

A reworking of a passage from Jamie Oliver’s ‘Jamie’s Dinners’ interspersed with quotes from Miguel Angel Ruiz and Terry Eagleton.

and look at the electricity they save.'

The Magus, John Fowles

Jaques Derrida, Nicholas Royle 

Robert Macfarlane - The Wild Places