The Blue Book

Shared Secrets

It rises with the earth again,
that old fragrance, a thing
flaring into sun,
our bodies bared in fine dust
and the filament on fire,
a firmament made far more
from sound
and this space between
than god’s endless silence
would have you believe.

Serve here with me,
watch my masks melt away
as the multicoloured lie
lets loose a truth
to the rise and fall of nothing more,
nothing less than the rhythm
of another human hand,
this horizon itself the hue
of that honey cake we made
from a secret recipe you hid
in an hourglass turned last
long before now.

Remember, please,
the Van Gogh in our garage;
how it burns of its own accord
to get out and share again
how one human saw
and, sharing that, show us all
what sight can mean,
what the music as we rose
into night, soared, and sunk
back to sunrise
really meant,
and why it all goes together:

a smell, a sound, a secret recipe,
and the kind of sight so simple
it sees just this.


The Secret

Special Star

Fluid Dynamics

Blue vapour without end