The Dream of Paris

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1b46fa8504f22e854b5127a611b787abI am still soaked in the dream of that city

boulevard cobbled with knowledge

local feet have worn and worn again

and the sunlight is freshly buttered

triple dappled and held in place

by these apartment buildings

that have eaten too much good cheese

and now bulge into the thoroughfares.

The light curdles as I wake

the glistening skin of it is nothing

because I can warm your cold hand

here, miles into the future.

Before You Sleep

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Let your ears listen out;

crickets strumming their bodies

a passing car

dog, voices low in the coming dark.

Between each breath a circle of quiet.

Let that stay there as you breathe in

in that round second

linger there and think of colours

in sunlit water

but do not forget to breathe out.

Think of fish, of the way they water-breathe

how they fly in their otherworld under the sea.

And of how your otherworld is sleep

as gentle as the leaves that are moving to the wind

or the weeds to the waves.

You can dive in now.

Or let your mind lie down

bring it in close to you and let your skin

hold it, like this bed holds you

or even the sea those fish we saw.

Feel the covering, your feet, hands,

each cheek and let your tongue lie still.

Can you hear the surf of sleep?

Can you smell the dreams you are going to have

or feel them warm along your body?

They will come for you, my love

and find you here.

The tide rises and rises to you.

Scale (For Helen)

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We are among the seismic traffic of droid drivers

our fishtail bikes all about scale

fastened together between the light stop/go

the cleats, panniers and hardness of our palms

as we wave and reel in, pedal down

me as tall as the wheels of this one,

you, eyeline with the first metal beetle

could I shout to you over all the explosions?

would you hear me call you

the name I once knew you by –

naked in the sea?