Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Morning snows in my dreaming book of secrets.
Like a Disney movie, sparrows are singing in my head.
An hour after coffee I grasp reality as if it were 
inflatable and survivable.

A plane crashed in the night, I know I went down,
but the night forgot the plot in the turmoil
of another dawn chorus call.
Now there is deep snow, and winter forecasts
are already piling into drifts where a few sparrows 
bounce weightless in the sparkling air.

Today will be special, I will go to special school,
one created for semi-illiterate writers of sparrow music.
I will choose bright yellow sun-shaped faces.
Helpers will open my book of dreaming secrets,
then slowly in a language made for simpler times,
explain what I said when my mind was fed
by fantastical stage music.

Then after crumpets and tea, the rest of me 
will toddle into the night dragging a life-belt behind.
The sparrows will fall silent, a dimmet landscape 
will be full of previously downed and drowned, 
I will enter it with eyes closed 
in order not to see what happens next,
and if we all again die a little, will it matter?

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