At The Quayside

You appeared at first ethereally,
Time suspended, landscape dreams
Where the sum is and is not, equally,
In a house I once frequented, the rooms
Displaced, and at first with anger
Surfacing for those who had betrayed,
Until you emerged, and brushed this away.
I wanted to say something profound
Or funny, but I could not move my mouth
For it was filled with straw, so I stood
Denuded on a lounge-room floor.
You laughed regardless and touched
With an ineffable lightness
The crown of my hair and the line of my jaw.
By your presence absorbed,
In the company of subconscious royalty
I would offer lifetime loyalty
For just a moment together
For afternoon tea, where we would pause
The universe, and turn off suffering.
My formative years are at their end
And time and space now bend
To your will.
You removed the poisoned pears
From the Munro bowl which was not there
A second ago, the clay of the dream
Remoulding itself around a core
Of memories, desire and fears from before,
And from this world you disappeared.

At the quayside I waited,
Fishermen witnessed, their breath abated,
Just as your letter requested,
Causing all the years of myth and lore.
I did not want you to go, but the dream was bolted,
And now I must live somehow once more.

2 thoughts on “At The Quayside

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