What a Calm Sea Hides
what a calm sea hides
into the deepest indigo
air airwaves have settled
all that remains is a fringe of tide
the tree holds, forever
on the eighteenth day
of every second month
an invitation arrives.
not encased in a stiff
white crinkling envelope
made from the death of a tree
it is from the tree,
a passing zephyr
of whisper-breath
the merest of rustles
“come, there is space for you
we will talk”
welcome steps out,
moods follow at a distance
they never try to enter, it is futile
clouds of different greys tumble backward
coming home to a favourite place
heaven of the heart
veils slip away not needed here
shields of gauze left piled out side
there is an inside and an outside
there is no clinical, mechanical,
buzz-beep speak
altering through the air
see bespectacled dissect,
creeping through mouldering pages
looking for similarities, wrung out theories
and queries from long ago
sit and be quiet and so I do
for an hour on the dot, finis
I do not see me.
among all of these descriptions
these wise whizz-bangers,
bon mot until next time
I reach over to shake the proffered
sepulchral cartoon undertakers hand.
you will not find them here
blown up and blown away
by their own hot air.
I see you as you are gremlin minds.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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