At Silent Waters, the mist walks the mountain;

It is our messiah and truth will rise

under its gentle presence.

If only there was a one way ticket to paradise,

we could bask in the sunset of our childhood dreams,


In the pool, the mermaids play leap frog

across the stone lily pads.

Their laughter rings out, filling our hearts with

the promise that church bells often bring.

The wind in the trees sounds like rain;

and above the sky and ocean burn into one another along

a thin blue florescent horizon.

But I suppose that even paradise is entitled

to a few jeweled tears.

Under a glowering sky, love rained here;

Twelve white throated lilies, two nymphs and a sweet


This Silent Waters, it steals my meaning

and leaves me thirsty for more than just words.

As the sun sets on our time here,

it is a gasp of charred colour,

the dying embers of some prehistoric flame.

How much of this will last…past night?



I dream of my mother's hands

washing over me,

in-between my legs and buttocks,

quick expedient strokes.

A stream of warmth from a green tin cup

Flattens my hair.

I dream of my mother's hands

in water,

kneading dough,



doors left open.

Over steaming pots and cleaning pans,

I dream of my mother's hands.

Creamy nails, dry like sand,

quiet like snow.

Buried in dirt,

Upon which flowers grow.

I dream of my mother's hands

Dancing in the air

Braiding my hair.

I dream of her hands




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