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‘to a meadow only to a meadow’

Photo by Kristine Cinate on Unsplash

I wish that I knew from the very start
Which mountain the sun came from
For your eyes can be deceiving in rain
Fountains are rain corralled and I’m tempted
Into sleeping on your neck. A servitude of roses.
In which green bay the rolling sea spy on me
That’s deep, but it aint at all clear. Like seawater,
Lagoons on topical islands are lost on me.
Kind of like a fantasy. As it is.

I wish and I knew from the very start
That in your heart of hearts
You do not have a way to deal with the sea,
Water is always a better sort of wound
Because water wishes from the very beginning.
What human hands will remain, unpolluted by blood?
That is the key to the music box hidden in the secret
Garden, where the door is always closed, where puddles
Stay with their stories and water dilutes the tears of lovers.

Simply but astonishingly wet before you know it
You are water on the urge to repeat
When I reach the end of your hand
You reach the bridge, the bridge of…