Friday, November 30, 2012

Where do you go when you're gone?

When you lose yourself
in your mind's eye
that swarm of ceaseless
dreaming, that is not sleep

Do you escape to a
white plastered cliff
somewhere in the mediterranean

or to some cold riverbank
in the heart of europe
where the locals drink rum
on bottles hanging from
their canoes

Do your thoughts run along
a postcard of
the great wall of

or to the fans and paintings
of a spain you knew
by touch and feeling

You realise now you don't
go anywhere when you're gone
because that restless heart of yours
beats in the present
and has no need to be transplanted
elsewhere, anymore

or at least not for now

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