I speak in song, I think in flame;
I dream of Spanish hills or
distant destinations
where the air is still.
I linger in moments
that pass too quickly
and forget that I was
ever there.
Do such moments ever stop
to think of me; do they care?
I wish to embrace the land
and tip my toe in waters cold,
to laugh along with funny
bird songs, bright and bold.
Yet something makes me feel uneasy,
a little queasy, as if this is not what is done
in this magic-less world of ours where
dreamers are forbid to dream.
Yet still I linger on in moments
that pass too quickly and
forget that I was
ever there.
Do such moments ever stop
to think of me; do they care?
12.36
30/01/08
