in the middle


in the middle

of a few days in
an adventure began
in which a film could neither
begin nor end.

Together we found home
in a light and lantern.
Sian, pilot, polestar and guide
and I was a “little bit” mad.
So let us adventure with Don Quixote
and Sancho Panza (for he is me)

Images repeat in our minds (we cannot help it)
Sian at Loch Garten in a blue dress
with flowers (picked by Andrew) in her hands.
And in my SEROXAT madness
Rachel coloured hearts for me
from Cornton Nursery.
Images repeat in our minds (we cannot help it)

In Seaton Park, Gregory’s Girl kissed me and light became lighter
and silence (the unsaids) lighter still. From then on
no windows could be bricked-up.
Walls and fences became natural hedges
where gaps [gateways] invited us to places where we could just be
and where no sky was little.  We learned to love like this
Together, telling the stories that nobody hears!

This poem is skipping time!
Today, we live with white noise
where Elbow room is lost
and I am getting old
“I couldn’t help it”.

So let us follow our children –
“second to the right and straight on” where we can fly “till morning”
Polestar and guide.
Inside the crocodile, the clock still ticks
‘Listen’ said Dylan
in a time where Nabakov continues to flutter brilliantly:
both would have found home in Dalquaharran’s libarary
[it was at the top of the stairs]

Hold the door open to that library:
memories may ‘rebel’, but are never extinct: such is reality and romance.
Being read to by one’s mother, Peter’s unwritten “Canto 1943”.
Moatbrae, books, and Neverland:small spaces that magically reach out
to a sky that is not little.

At Lagvag
distance was closer than a southern elsewhere
that no sea could divide
and in the middle,“two cultures” find themselves lost
[Both Don Qixote and Sancho Panza agreed on this
and that reality and fiction live on]

This poem proposes something and concludes nothing.
But thankfully two girls sang:
one was Sian.

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