You, travelling 
to my past; 
I'll slip my longing 
quiet as an ember 
into your pocket, 
let it ride the long miles 
touch sharp mountain shadows, 
breathe lacy rainforest... 

Cool the ember 
on glacier's crust 
and thundering undercurrent - 
spit 
on warm volcanic mud, 
bubbling between city toes. 
Quench your english eyes 
with unbearable blue; 
see how the morning sun 
halo-blesses every head? 

Cool the burn 
under tree ferns 
emerald enough to cut; 
grab a swatch of clean air 
and stash it for later - 
Shout 
Shout! 
Hold your journey tight 
and squeeze it... 
Whisper 'soon' to the remembered, 
bloody wind - 
I'll bring my own embers, 
if not ashes.
  

  © 2000