Sunday, 29 April 2012

27: Pages Stained With Pollen

This spring I will take all the unanswered mails
and weave a raft, take to the Landwehrkanal,
sail unabetted past the picnic makers.

They’ll cock their cucumber sandwiches like
rifles and howl to no avail. We’ll be buoyant
on this boat of responsibilities tossed to the wayside,

our hearts like dandelion clocks waiting to learn the lesson
how to windsurf. How to skindive. How to fly.

You keep whispering at my earlobe like a unrepentant
bumblebee and you’ve filled the afternoon with
appointments to the flowers.

I flick through the diary and the pages
are stained yellow with your pollen. 

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