Linger

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