the sun is sparkling, the rain rumbling, and we badly need some poetry...

Monday, 28 February 2011

Gordon Mason - One Poem

Shadow Director

My shadow eavesdrops her window.
She combs summer’s dust
from her hair, a sudden shower
of static silver. I form lips

with my hands and kiss
her morning eyes silently. 
From distance my hands
are fluid rivers, free from ice

of nerves of nearness. 
Ghostly silk overpaints
her contours in a dance I lead
to the tune of silver bells

of morning dew. I am director
of a solo dream where the lead actress
does not know her part.
I will kiss her when the credits roll.