I began this poem was on the shortest day. The time, I like to believe, that held a significance for our Neolithic Ancestors, the reason they raised stone circles and the other enigmatic structures. I have no proof of this, it just feels right to me. I am drawn to celebrate the shortest day as the beginning of the new solar cycle. But enough of my beliefs.
insubstantial
even as you seek
the memory
has gone
so you stare at the ceiling
in the darkness
the shortest day calls to you
later
you will sight that dream fragment
as you turn the steering wheel
too preoccupied
to give it attention
so it flees
is content to taunt your sleep another
night
The poem records events as they happened. A tantalising echo on waking and another glimpse as I drove to the beach hut to watch the sunrise. I wrote the first draft after breakfast, literally jotting down a word sketch. The sparseness appealed.
Thanks to bandcamp for this video. I was taken by its beauty, how the music and image combine to offer a different vision. Thanks to Jeff Parker. His album is excellent.
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