Part four
‘You are the story tellers
But no books or pen’
‘We are not like the artist
With lead
Or an artisan with an axe
A soldering iron
We live the story line
And imaginings’
‘We are young
Fresh from the womb
We are the story don’t you see.’
Davy looked away,
Blushed and said
‘You crazy fools!
Demons in my dream.’
Now:
The stowaway of Quintessence
Floats on drifting wood
She had leapt when Davy
Torpedoed the reef
Twenty days adrift
She sleeps fits and starts
In and out of a marvelous dream
That she and Davy
Explored a hole
Far away on the distant edge
Of the Milky Way.
That was before Davy
Losing of feeling
Left her at the harbor
On a fine summer’s day.
Though she sllpped on board
From the lighthouse boat
As Davy below waited
For the midnight tide.
‘And I wore a suit of sails
Stowed in the hold
Where Davy came
But did not look.’
(The stowaway:
Her heart-break,
Love of pride.
While the Captain;
His foolishness,
Pride of love.)
Having leap-frogged
The horoscope of planets
Their laughter echoing
In ravines
A distant beep resounded
Their trepid steps lit
On rim
And bending over
Davy fell
Distraught she follows him
And they fall for years and years.
Then:
Angelica stroked
The broken-legged pair
She clasped their ribs
To the fulcrum
Of the circle taking shape
From the hole
The three travelers
Dissolved to
Molecular state
Now free of form
Their mass surged
To a spaceship standing by
At number nine,
The Cosmic Crossing.
Blast off!
It shook Celeste
Swept the dirt and cob-webs
From the temple story
And our friends
Solidified.
Davy is the stowaway
And she, Davy.
Angelica?
Angelica emerged unscathed.
The writing is on the wall
As they speed to the tiny dot
Called by the local folk
Mother Earth.
Now:
Angelica buoys
Her stowaway along
The line of swelling wave
And overhead
Migratory birds
Strangely dally
And their leader at the V
Descends; rests his feet
On the driftless head.
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