“We are the sun,” you said,
that his light arose with us
playing on rainbows,
his myriad smiles the spangled waves.
In those days thoughts were endless,
vibrant pages which turned by themselves.
There were no limits to how far we’d run
or dream out onto the sea,
our hearts living free in a peerless sky.
But thoughts like books do have an end
and I have died a billion times,
holding on to every word you said,
like a child might ask a question
between the pages of his lives
One day we will live by the sea,
take our time like we always said.
We shall walk along the strand
come rain or shine,
while dinner cooks slowly back home.
Though we won’t have much,
we won’t ask for any more: it will be enough.
Contentment is making do,
inevitable like the tides,
the changing season
and the portals of life
Ciscography 