The Centre March - March '98

Last summer we were cocooned, like seeds.
In swarms of warm breath
Flutter winged and tingle fingered.
Moth hearts swimming and swooning
In honey tipped breast dreams
Dripping into infancy.
An hour glass streaming
Moment after moment of lacey touches,
Slipping through consciousness
Like opal milk.
Mouths open.
Rooting.

Last summer the warm grass Sprung with the weight of two
On bare feet.
Daisies strung between ringed toes.
You slung against soft velvet belly
My hands stretched to give you shade.
We waltzed in sunset arms
Between suede hills
Beads and beech boughs
Pendulum.

Last summer I lurched awake
Frost sweat, sun ripped, pulse paced.
To Watch you breathe.
Indigo embraced
Sparrow light against my throat.
You curled into a small moon
In the universe of our duvet.
Your wide face lit
With sleep bliss gifted
By some perfect God.

This summer we shall talk to the bees.
I shall lay in the sun
Whilst you roll on the fat grass and kiss dandelions.
I will feed you wet slithers of peaches
Lick the juice from your chin
With rasping tongue.
I shall savor your thunder
Until storm sated you tear through your tears
To find some clear skies
And a river some where sparkling.

This summer I will bleed the Great Mother
Into my garden.
You will taste her in the sweetcorn and the Borage flowers.
I shall move her from my breasts into paint again
So you can smear her blazing colours
Across continents
Like your ancestors.

I will watch with wonder and dismay
As you see her face slip from mine
Into the Abyss of all potential.
You will chase her in the words of old stories
Hunt her in the rapture of fierce dances
And mourn her in haunting song.

But this will be your circle.
One summer I will walk to the edge
Clear in the certainty that you will be
Strong in the centre