A Moveable Garden

Part of my Feb 2024 Dream Poems project.

The Faraway

It’s afternoon but my morning mind won’t let go
silent in its way as it echoes the sea swells of night
the rocking of a distant dark ocean, narcotic, unsettled
like my crashing mind, sea debris floating and 
flickering behind my crusted eyes, dream-dusted,

like the birds outside this mizzled window, falling
and lifting, swirling and deliquescing, as if swept
by a great and knowing tide, an undercurrent
of the moon, fragmented here on earth and air,

and I’m not lonesome, I’m swirling too, dissolving
like morning dew, precipitating with birds and
sea specks, glimmers of dream that flow and
recede from a land unspoken, purely provisional,
a silent and shuttered seaside retreat.

In my ink-stained afternoon hands a souvenir
of the faraway remains, ferrying my afternoon mind
through time unmeasured, across a yawning gulf
to morning, to night, to this nebulous and elusive

then which is also now, and I have not returned.
I am unresolved, contingent, while the moon has risen
already into its dim sky and the birds continue to drizzle,
undefined, their calls echoing from the outermost coast.

© M Wms 2024