A place. A space of silent possibility.
Salvation lies within the grasp of a parched man.
I see here rooms and gardens drawn in pairs, square within square
that join and combine to become a whole.
A maze of interlocking minds. The space the man and he the space,
in this expanding place.
A corridor of tiled floor that runs to a distant horizon that ends at infinity.
Plants in pots as large as lakes where snakes sleep in the heat of day
and dates grow among the feathered foliage.
A square laid out for olive trees that shimmer in a wafting breeze.
The soil around their roots cooled by a spring of crystal life.
Barefoot she tends her gnarled ancestors and sings their history sweetly to herself.
A blue canal dissects the pillars of the world
and carries peace or discord to each as each has ordered.
Minds divine the temper of the room in which you live and die,
from place to place within this space where peace is in the grasp of all.
Some sit on ebony benches fanning brows contorted with the pain of disbelief.
Grief a weight on shoulders broad enough to carry it, yet they tarry on this road.
Boundary walls tall, festooned with espaliered satsuma trees,
orange against the white where suns shine in the darkest night
and light is cast to shadowed corners for those who dare to search.
A magpie comes to perch above the gate, to steal the shine from this estate.
To late to see the whole contained within the universe of breath.
A kiss, a word heard on the edge of a barely conscious mind.
~ Dave Kavanagh