Do you remember the merry-go-round by the pier. Your hair waving in a wind of colours. You tantalized me with your smell of happiness. I shook at the touch of fresh flesh. My pale skin tone beginning to blush. In another place, the sad wind continued to slaughter the sweet sounds of the cicadas. But I was only concerned, with kissing the tears of happiness from your eyes. And washing you all over, with my words.
Unable to sleep, listening to the night on my roof. I wondered, how many heaps of sufferings are there? Strange, how one disturbed thought creates so many distractions.
I walked around the city, trying to find the temple. North and south, east and west. I though there must be a Buddha somewhere in this place. Whilst searching for the temple, I decided to search for meaning. But I ended up just as lost. Then, as if by magic, there was the temple. A distraction fit on a hot summer’s day. But it was closed. What blue, I thought- looking at my old tired feet. So, I called the burning sky and the loneliness of a wandering poet. Silently, a bird flew into the empty street. In one shrill cry, everything appeared in summer clothes. And once again, I was able to find my way home.
Walking just walking. Ten thousand steps, already. The answer comes to me. Along the road goes no one. In a moment, a dragonfly passes by. And I can hear the sound of prayer drums from Báimǎ Sì. As my life, begins again.
I am for the open streets. The peoples face caressed by the breeze. And the butterflies, with halcyon wing – who tune the rivers flow. Such are the spells, that end those mournful days. And claim a kinship, with the sky, the people and the butterflies.
Is there the clarity of a sky – or just the billows of summer? In hot weather ghosts are unthinkable – but they are here. Skins smocked with heat-rash and words we no longer believe. As Bukowski said – it is just a tale of ordinary madness. And I think, no one really cares about ghosts anyway.
I left, a white indifferent sky. A simple place, if you want to stand by the road, and wait. Did you see me, as I passed you by? A Manchester peat- bog of memory. On his way to find Buddha. And leaving behind, a magpie hectoring from its nest. And that white indifferent sky.
I see you, as it looked that afternoon. Light summer clouds. The sun a sheet of gold, given to you and me. A shake of your hair, and a faint seductive smile. A summer day, on the edge of the world.
When you hear thunder. Will you remember: that all I wanted was words. Honest words. Rippling around our sky, until they become pleasures of the mind. I think not. But, at least the flowers wave and nod. A passing breeze, leaving their love upon my forehead.
Unable too say goodbye, your breath freezes like fine lace. I leave, with strength and words of love from my soul. And while the clouds hide the sun from sight. There is no better home, that sad memory’s forgotten. And a woman to call my own.