hamlet stands

on the roof of the world

when you begin something new, judgement is suspended. the mind awaits the dream - a window quietly opens. and the world enters the field of vision. it is the form that tells you how to invite it into possibility. in the fervour of new creation, the body dissolves.

this poem, fresh out of the oven - that i share with you today - attempts to document this process - of creative fire, of collaboration.

this is for amjad.

hamlet stands
on the roof of the world

after Carl Phillips

i woke     wanting       to hold everything        there      in the space    between       at the centre    a small opening   like mercury's sidle    into time     i woke with time wanting      
to regret everything      i woke up to the silence   wedged between      the disappearing
is that real?   is it nothing     neither good nor bad     just thought, between     and swift
how swift   this wanting    i woke to the sleep   scarred into morning     that has  frayed  
not hatched   i woke as darkness    wakes to light     lulled by dream      vetted by hist'ry
in sleep we trust.     look to the east       how dawn in russet mantle clad     opens the book 
of sight.   we start to see what is not there   that is the only sign of our breathing............
and this place   from which we began   the night, our only salvo at peace  and the night that is a home    to the dancing fingers              that embroiders a world outside of sight i woke up to the thought  did you?  see it? the sparrow's wing astride the sun like icarus      the charioteer     alighting into the fog of melancholy             like the blue skinned devil   who knew better than to     negotiate with the night    the atrophied night        the night
is an old man bending low      this night, a torrent              and as he rises from the ground     in the crook of his palm       a letter     every morning    after that i wake up to the sound of temple bells    swaying gently from side to side   on the flotsam of disbelief      i wake up to the smell of morning charred to action with the memory of everything        folded    against my fingers     like a slowing         like an eyelid            that combs the anxious air   into sleep   come hold my hand      friend            stand with me         and see what we sea    

---

i hope the day is kind to you

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