Go into your minds:
Walk into sand country,
past smooth rock,
that sloping warmth pulsing in colour.

A hot wind swirls at my back,
sprinkling bright dust.
And solid ground;
a hammock that holds us.

And at school dark uniforms
of girls and boys, sink in chairs.
But pools of thought flow,
watching – a still wind,
put imaginings into
black ribbons and loops,
hands fly on books
as minds moving across land.

Vanishing sound
a rush in our skulls
dissolving thought,
as oblivion awaits
us: solid individuals of light, 

I am still,
slowly you are still too
as I wait for clocks to tick
our timing away.

View this poem on The Disappearing »