You awake from your cloud of dreams, shifting one way,
then another. The overcast tumbles from form to
formless to be reformed all in a night.
Coffee and breakfast is ready
For you downstairs. Cream on top, runny yolk. His face is white.
No, he seems white all over. With the Fairy ready, blue turns
To white. Your concentration slips as you get lost in the clouds.
Circles turns to triangles, now sharp, now hostile. Air is vented
Your way…again, as well as invisible insects. You sigh, he walks
Away. Equilibrium is being hunted again.
Red sky at night
You’re no shepherd! And it’s only five
In the afternoon. They look pretty, always
Moving, always smiling. Shame about
Him. Still on the couch, but flicking
Through the channels more than usual.
There he stood, gazing; words were exchanged.
You drop, stumble and fall, step by step. Dripping
Red, he walks, appearing smaller, fainter.
On your back, the moon burns
Through the clouds. Pronouncing the darkness.
Masking and unmasking the white face
Of the night. It loses shape, now sharp, now
Hostile. Losing a part of itself, but always
Regaining itself again too. And you?