In the morning the girl was dreaming, staring as though through a veil at the rain outside the kitchen window as she absently wiped clean one plate: consistent, soapy circles over and over beneath a steady stream of hot water. The plate was clean, still she ran circles over it, her hand moving like the constant arm that ticks away seconds on the clock face. While she stared out, her eyes looked inward, playing with fantasy like scenarios. Her ears listening not to the steady stream of water falling over her hands, but rather hearing impossible, far off words in imagined conversations. Her mind was a home for impossible things, until eventually a stab of logic broke through the curtain of her distant gaze, and she blinked. The plate was clean; she saw it now, and she set it to dry with the rest of them.
Empty vessels? No,
Rather carriers of light
That teems with colour,
A teacup would if the hand
That pours were never
Stopp’d, so sweet warmth and fragrance
Flow into the world.
In this way spills from
Our cup joy and pain, and tears
For both, and love, oh
Love overflows above all
Never running out.
All life is old and
tired. Even a baby’s brain
is wrinkled and grey.
True life is old, but
We are young. shining eyes catch
The light of new days.
Ah, but the light we
catch in our eyes is light from
an old, dying star.
Stars fall from heaven
To light the path to our souls;
The spirit shines on.
Are we but empty
vessels, then? To take in the
light and send it out?
Vessels of light are
Never empty, but brimming
With endless colour.
My muse, where have you gone? My words without
The whisper of your sweet breath, like the first
Few starting drops of rain that bring the storm,
They fall upon the page as petals float
From springtime blossoms - lovely, fragrant, but
No weight. And quick to brown, they fade too soon
To dust. Replenish me, I plead, I need
Your subtle inspirations. Beating hearts
Grow slow without the rush of giddy blood
That floods the mind with every touch of your
Light lips, that kiss my fingertips and leave
Behind a brush of rosy blush in each
Small scrawl of ink that marks my thought. My muse,
If human form you dare not take, why then
Have you abandoned me, like all the rest?
Quelque chose me manque,
Il y avait un fois,
Je me perdait dans la labyrinthe
Des rues si belles, si belles
Ils faisaient parti d’un monde
Si vaste, trop vaste pour
Jamais se trouver
Et être perdu,
C’était la seule chose a faire,
Qu’on est entourée
Par un magie innommable.
Je nomme tous les rues
Et le monde est petit,
Si petit, car je sais toujours
Dans quel direction il faut marcher.
Je le sens encore, la magie,
La sensation m’attire de loin, si loin
Et si je pourrais, je la suiverais
Au labyrinthe si belle, si belle…
Ah, pour retourner!
Sans le vaste splendeur du monde
Pour saisir ma coeur,
Quelque chose me manque.
How came we here? I find my spirit dwells
Within this wilderness; I rest my soul
‘Neath canopies of green, for surely here
My heart was born, and how the woods do sing
For me a song of welcome - I am home.
But oh, sweet friend, what have we done? I fear
Your steps unwanted here. This air you ne’er
Were meant to taste; the willows crave revenge.
So soft, step lightly that your feet make not
A sound to raise the sleeping leaves, the swarm.
The hush of all our motions hold your chance
For safety. Not a bird must look on us,
Lest flying they send word to hunting wolves.
These branches dark are full of spies and there,
Look up, the eagles survey from the skies.
Now let your voice be as the rustling wind
That weaves from tree to tree. Your hands must leave
No trace, no touch to break the natural scene.
Now wait - what’s that? Go quick, for howls grow close!
Away! See there? The sea will hide our scent -
Oh help, the waves are crashing cold and harsh!
And my strength withers outside forest walls;
We fled from them but at what cost? Where shall
I hide you? Roots have left me, breath all gone,
No silent guided step can save you now.