I dreamed of you cycling
and me as the passenger
on a vintage bike
so old it creaks

I hid my face behind you
your broad shoulders’ as a windshield
my hands held on to your crease shirt
my arms eventually snaked around you

I clang on to you from the back
You kept peddling on the cobblestone streets
A bumpy ride reached a balance with speed

it was a Saturday
you had been teaching all day
I didn’t know why I was there waiting
students hushed in and out

I fell asleep on the couch
you scooped me up
and placed me onto your vintage bike
and peddling me home

I couldn’t recall when I was awake
perhaps it was the crisp autumn air
perhaps it was the warmth from you

I am now wide awake
holding on to my soul
behind you

it’s a swampy coastal line when I arrive on this island
finding my way up to the top of the mountain for a view
in the dark, a cauldron of light compassing my vision
and now the narrow path is broadening to an end

the tide is low when we arrive

not much  of water – sea bed exposed, 

spineless sea weed on drift woods, 

sand or mud – too shallow for anchor

it’s only an estuary – not an ocean

It calms or cries – twice a day –
when the Moon ties the Earth

like the Sun…

crossing to the isolated island

is now possible, on foot

you imposed a pair of scissors gaze
tracing and cutting my heart
into shapes –
of your eyes
of your ears
of your nose
of your mouth
and of your heart

they are peculiar
shaping my heart into a liar
of my mind torn into pieces of fear
burning like a bush fire in Australia

they are definitive
sunken in your face into a passive
return slicing into pieces of my gaze
puzzling over the full of your face

your gaze is now folded on my face
and your face larger than my gaze

but my vision is clear
of your eyes
of your ears
of your nose
of your mouth

of your mind
and my mind

that the sum of all these pieces
will be once again

whole…