into the night i

 

Dusk—

on my way home,

ten litres of water

on my back,

courtesy 

of the ever-giving 

Swan Princess spring.

(link provided below)

You are invited

to join the story 

cartographically,

even if time and space

prevent your feet from 

retracing my own.

Three images,

you observe,

almost identical— 

almost... I repeat 

        unconsciously, 

thereby alerting you 

to subtle variances the eye 

perhaps fails to note 

in the first flush of 

seeing more than

is known:

confronted by

the full force and power

of raw, unprocessed 

imagery

Tanya wasn't fooled,

no indeed...

immediately spotting

a fairytale 

of ducks in the dark

a-waiting to be told:

prompting this unsolicited

intimacy of words—

a-reaching across barriers 

normally separating

us peopley-folk in pockets, 

in spheres of prosey

self-sufficiency;

catchments of plain sense

keeping us from 

achingly soulful

haunting

verse

You know all there is 

to know—

allow the imagery

to speak, eloquently.

I cannot;

or won't.

I

Snow.

You begin—

Dark forms.

Ducks, apparently.

Let it go—

Wings clipped;

locked in a monochrome

of white and dark,

unable to fly south, 

dependent on the charity

of humanfolk

as we, 

we are dependent, no less, 

on theirs for passage 

o'er the waters

they patrol,

betwixt day and night,

 between verse and prose

back, home

  back... home

Have i said too much?

no?

not enough?

Hints.

Stabs in the dark.

Failure. Oh!

Only too aware.

Painfully so...

Yet night,

night surrounds me as i write,

as we

a-flying on coat-tails of

minds a-merged—

mind beside 

our own,

hear the wingbeats of a Swan Princess

fade into the gloom;

the no more words

of repose

 

map link to Swan Princess spring