m /etamorpho/sis

I’ve met the alabaster heron upon ’tis grassland,

“bare-footed,” he said, “’tis journey I must go,”

unmanned, unplanned and a broken hand,

he says, “‘beyond the water – ’tis land – I must know!”

upon uneven grounds, he smiled

while I – beset with gloom.

eyes set on the dark of night, O yes he was beguiled,

while I – my heart: but a tomb.

“I should like to taste wine,” he says

“for the time for heartbreak is nigh!”

– shock –

(the heron spoke to me in sighs;

he, too, thought of her cries)

’twas the last dawn I recall:

————I returned home

and you opened the door.

red eyes and silent sighs,

pain says it all.

alas, the roses, they grew,

from the opening of Pandora’s box;

(I should think hope has been let out.)

magenta, and alive, and towards the sun

they sing, they dance; and the bottle of wine

they did open.

I felt a tear

you did too, this I know.

– metamorph —–

beside you: bags.

I questioned

why.

“through,”

you cry,

“through.” I think the rose petals have faded

into the ground: the thorns carved a path

on which you set foot on.

– metamorphosis –

yesterday:

the dust on your yellow trainers;

the sheen of light that paints your hair a brown hue;

the warmth emanating from your body;

the blue of your bag —– that bag. hope must’ve escaped; here she greets us

this –

we both know. we waited for an infinity. today:

on ’tis grassland we sit

with the alabaster heron

and our glasses of wine.

he asked, yes the heron, O the alabaster heron asked,

curiously, purely

“sir, what of the tomb?” “unlocked” –

originally published: 19 Sept 2015