Solid Air
I stand in the smouldering air,
Where the attic used to be,
Brushing the cobwebs out of the sky,
Falling to knees.
Remembering snakes and ladders,
And midnight feasts,
Sailing to the moon in our dreams.
Imaginations floating softly over
Our mouths in the cold.
Like baited breath, waiting to inhale,
But ravaged by fire, by smoke,
The sky is falling in, the honeymoon over,
Judge, jury, executioner.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock, your time is up.
Little man, unearthed, unearthly
Not of this world – is erased.
No man’s land for eternity,
As dead as leaves,
A wolf at the door, coming
To blow our house down.
Up is the only way now,
Rag dolls – the soulless kings of nowhere – we drift
Back to the stars,
Sailing to the moon.
This time for real, our mouths wide open.
Sucking in infinity,
A mixamatosis of peace, of humanity,
Left far, far behind, in the lukewarm air.
Never to be rediscovered,
That baited breath of God’s country…
