Tightly wound, wounded, wavering and falling.
Fleetingly dancing across barren urban landscapes,
Reaching for the promise of eternal, ever burning light.
For warmth, for whispers into soft skin beneath the ears,
Muffled amongst curls cooled with the breeze.
All is eternal, in motion, it moves us.
Pulsating through barren, empty concrete structures,
Searching for a child’s cry, warm wet noses,
Satisfied sighs and golden bands that speak of eternity.
Searching, searching, always hoping.
In dreams, it reaches us, it speaks to us,
It leads us by the hand, it preaches to us.
But when mute black and blue light fades into crisp golden fingers,
Peaking through bedclothes, these memories fade back into pillowcases,
And bodies silently ache to remember the touch our brains forgotten.
Somewhere in the clearing, the formula for bliss is waiting for us.
Eager to be discovered, to be packed into brown paper bags,
Prized, carried home, placed on a shelf.
Somewhere, a bit further in the clearing.
Searching, always searching.