I'd slept after I woke
amongst the rocks, but always
I begin again; I picked across to
where I bade me look, into the well
and in I fell.
I dragged myself round
amongst the Gedarene tombs.
There she was; she'd tried wrapping
herself in cheap veils made from
Beijing smog.
I enfold the madwoman's hand.
While we're gone may He make her
a dress and make us a cairn,
a mark to note the summit of the
beautiful mountain.
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the images in your poem are most intriguing Sue, your words really make me ponder.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. You paint some mighty word pictures, my dear.
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