There is a place
where jewelled cobwebs
dot the hillside
my father’s smile
and the rocks
feel solid beneath my feet.
The mist swirls in the valleys
a potent sea
which my brother
conjures out of the vaporous void.
spinning a different web each day.
And yet it is I
who tell tales now.
Fishing in that timeless sea
of the past
a rotted corpse
a pearl within an oyster…
Rain in childhood
falls without explanation
simply pouring out of the sky
we do not dance in it (like my children will one day)
but don raincoats and unfurl umbrellas
stoically set out for our Saturday evening walk.
hand in hand
two by two
a twisting navy blue crocodile
creeping between two green slopes
one stretches upwards
draped with silver sheets which reach down
like Rapunzel’s hair inviting us
into the castle of the sky
the other tumbles down
into a shrouded sea, daring us to
surrender to its shadowy embrace.
the navy blue crocodile wriggles on
postponing the moment of decision
waiting for the sun to shine and the mist clear.