Byzantine Bindings

Friday, 16 May 2014


dusty old maps in shoeboxes
perhaps in the loft
or tucked deep in wardrobed folds

that yellow colour attractive reminder of the grave
tending to fragile and white cotton gloves

we take them out and remember
some time ago summer nights and ten o'clock
evening sunshine walks

or down by the river
was it

how to value that which never was
and lullaby it into being with brush and pencil
tickling pages listening for echoes

where does the touch of those ears of corn
now so keenly felt reside you know
it too so though a dream we carry it in soul's hands

what frustration must the sparrow feel
unable to live in other than
the present moment

how the river must pine
to be stepped into twice by the summer
splashing children discovering themselves

look at the old maps and trees carefully
calculate years in early summers mellow autumn rich brown
smelling springtime winter whiteness relieving themselves

into so called seasonal unfoldments beneath the feet
across the years bridges and forest kisses painting
landscapes of the soul