How huge the shadow of a fly
menaces across the ceiling
as it swoops past the light,
an intergalactic transport
announcing the end of earth.
How blue the welcome shade
tossed lightly as a salad over shrivelled grass
by a lone desert tree
a shawl, crocheted from night
resting on my shoulders.
How hilarious, how torchlight-drunk
"It's like a swan-giraffe," we giggle
waggling our contorted hands
surreal Noah's ark procession.
How curious that clear water
hurls an image of itself against the wall.
The unseen leaves an indentation
finger-deep on the world's surface.
How elegant-grotesque the gods and demons
on an Indonesian screen, advance/retreat,
larger than life, delicate tracery,
to musical cacophony, against a glass, darkly.
How long the sun-dial finger
cast by love
slowly arcing on the lawn
even when the sun has set.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Maggie
Butt would be
pleased to hear from you.