Published in my collection ‘How Do the Parakeets Stay Green?’ Indigo Dreams Publishing Limited
THE BRUISING STONES
Then I was a fish, sliding
my marbled body over
the bruising stones
blue limbed pale and
misted as Scottish mornings.
Later we sat a circle, fire
smoked our salmon skin
an adventure away from walls
rules, all things that
bewildered us.
Hot chocolate comfort wrapped
in my numb fingers, thick and
semi-sweet as darkness.
Your faces lit fire-glow
between shadows.
You have scattered since
like feathered dandelion tops
migrating birds, those flocks
of geese we used to watch
leaving each year.
I am living as a human now
fully grown, carving
my life in stone buildings
searching for the ways
the words to stay in touch
with us when we were fishes.