During some babbling sleep
Your fluttering eyes
Traced their way
Through spindled lines of history
To where not even you remember now
When trees whispered low
In hushed voices
The rain and roaring light,
And blind men led themselves
Further into darkness
Where each thought was distilled
Through their despair.
Tip toed on the destroying edge
One feeling fell into another,
Into the smallest certainty
Of your unexpected learning:
Nothing of Origins, nothing of purpose,
No answers to those crucial questions of being,
And all these huge things
Truly, they don’t matter.
Darling, you babbled brightly with this settling realisation
As it unveiled itself that night
Like the colours in a wet stone.