VI  THE LOVERS

I draw you into my magical power –
we three stand
in the magic circle,
& Cupid makes it four.

This entwining, this interweaving
needs all the blessings
it can get.

Flowers
rise over our heads, gather
at our feet –
the world becomes a flower,
fragile as a sand painting,
many-petalled, easily destroyed,
as the wreath twists together,
twists into its own harmonies,
like & unlike joined together,
its leaves, petals & colours
into patterns tightly winding.

Here in a garden frozen with time,
a threesome alone, by unrecognisable
forces hurled together –
dressed in similar green,
we are opposites but we unite –

but what
is it that’s holding us back,
what enumerates the impossible,
what forces reason
onto unreasonable scenes?

Red, green, white, the magic cup,
the arrow & the flower,
all wait endlessly
to pierce the question,
to show the way
out of the garden
to the first stumbling steps
of a new life.

^ back to top