Memories Of Tomorrow

When the sun warms her face,

As his hands would wish to warm it,

As it kisses her lips softly,

As he would wish to kiss them,

And she walks, silent down the cobbled streets,

By buildings which have stood the test of time,

By roofs that lean and windows not square,

By towers improbable, and the most curious of beasts,

Past exquisite fountains of tinkling cascades of crystal,

And the most gentle of folk of striking aspect,

Then all about her seems hushed so as to not

Disturb her dreams, thinking then of his love,

Of Him.  He had been there, he will be there,

He is there with her, part of him wrapped

In the deep crimson warmth of her heart,

As she dreams her memories of tomorrow.

Long and long ago it was that they had first loved,

Against all the laws of wild, sweet chance,

And then it was they had instant-like laid their hearts

Side by side, entwined, touching, together as one,

No matter the distance separating the spheres,

Or the fleet-footed dance of the years.

Where the silver light of the Moon,

Touches, most gentle the paints of God’s palette,

The soft, innocent blues, pinks and reds

Of the rarest and most beauteous of sunsets,

And a rainbow, inflamed with colour,

Seeps into the languidly coming night,

There, at that time, in those exact circumstances

A portal opens, a weak point in space time,

And it was through that portal he had slipped,

All unbeknown to him, but not to her, no, not her.

She sat, all unseen, morphed within her mighty oak,

Sharing; reading its news and its heart,

The song of the forest caressing her mind,

The simple innocence of the creatures

Dwelling therein softly touching her core

As she and they and the trees

Breathed they all in harmony.

She waited and watched,

Then, in silence, tensing

As she saw the portal open

And an alien and frightening

Desert vista assailed her eyes. 

It was as she had been spun in mystic accounts

Unfolded to her at the day’s conclusion by her mother,

The same tales she spun and unfolded for her children now.

She had not, until this moment, believed them,

And then by extraordinary chance

They were there and he appeared!

Tall he was, head bent forward a little as he walked,

His mind lost still within the pages of a book,

And then gradually he came to a standstill,

As he felt the presence of fresh, sparkling air,

The sounds of the breathing forest gestalt;

And the fragrance of uncountable blossoms seized him,

Their scents competing to seduce his sensibilities. 

His eyes, unwilling still, dragged he from the pages,

Held as they were by the unseen glue of fascination,

And lust for learning, and fell straight upon

Such a world as he had never conceived possible!

So changed, extraordinary and beautiful was it,

Filled with a wild riot of living things,

And shapes that were creations of wild visions,

With colour and harmonies of sound and space,

Those only conceived when his mind had danced

Across the truth of it all, ultimate perception

With God/ess-breathing hallucinogenics and

Both space and form showed their blends

At the interstices of what was possible

And what required the touch of the God/ess.

He nearly toppled as overloaded his senses

Tried to comprehend the fantastical world,

And glorious place, in which he found himself. 

Never before had he experienced his birth planet

Gaia, pour forth thus her pure and clear exaltation! 

Whirled he around and saw that he stood

At the termination of a long boulevard,

Delineated by ancient, marching oaks

Which reached out into the forest

In which he so oddly found himself.

He knew he should be alarmed, at the least of it,

But the realm which he had somehow entered

Was so near to that which knew his heart

Was the way it ought be,

He felt that he had arrived at the last,

At that place where he was always meant to be.

He squinted slightly along the boulevard,

And in the shimmering sunlight

Saw he such buildings and constructions

As defied the laws of physics as he knew them.

Towers there were with half their height spindly,

Crooked like a magician’s old hat;

Others which, gravity defying,

Carved an elegant arc,

Through ignorance of physical laws,

Turning back upon themselves,

And yet more which spirals drew;

And each with twinkling eyes,

A thousand crystal, coruscating windows

Kaleidoscopes of colour shouting out  

Their absurd and unreasonable beauty.

He stood, his eyes captive of the vision

But of a sudden whirled at a sound behind him

And thus it was saw her for the first time,

As she morphed from within the heart of her oak,

Returning to her elfin form.

Small she was, of most tidy proportions,

Somehow neat, just the way she should be.

Her eyes were both questioning and dancing.

Dark they were.  He was never to decide

Over all the countless, wondrous years of her presence,

And the three quarters-empty years of her absence,

Whether they were brown as the bark of her oak,

Black hole black, attracting all toward them,

Or green, that green of an endless, roiling sea? 

Her skin, golden it was, a lot lighter than his,

And though when on occasion she would ask of him

What it was she wore when they first met,

And he replied, obedient-like she wore a fitted,

Trailing dress of greenest forest velvet,

It was her face, always her face, which he saw

Or he ached for, the dancing eyes, yes, and

The smile which that first day and always thereafter

Was enough to light the full dark of night,

And the lips which always it was

That he felt the need to kiss.

She closed the space between them and,

All natural-like, took his arm as if

This was the most commonplace event and meeting

In the world, gently turned him

And stepped out, seeming to flow above the soft grass.

Her presence beside him,

Their relative heights,

The slight press of her body against his

As they strolled, gentle-like, down the boulevard

Seemed to him just as it should be

Was, had been and would be,

And he didn’t understand,

Did not want at that time to understand,

Just wanted this to be, always.

As they walked on, companionably,

She spoke; her voice the sound of a joyful star,

The mystery of the wind

Talking to the trees on a moonlit night,

The depth of the wild and rolling sea,

And the whispering secrets of the deep universe,

And he understood not what she said,

And at first it didn’t matter,

Lost as he was in the beauty of the music of her words,

Her lips, her eyes, her smile and again her lips.

Then stopped she and looked at him,

And it was all he could do not to fall into her eyes,

And spoke she slowly, a question he surmised,

From the gently questing intonation

And mien on her entrancing face.

He forced his mind to more purposeful activity.

Somehow knew he he recognised some of the words,

Or thought perhaps it was so but was uncertain.

Then the sensible thing he did,

Pointing to himself and giving his name.

Similarly she gave hers and thus he learned

The word that was from that day unto forever

The one which was to dwell,

Through the good years and the bad,

At the very centre of his soul;

The sound that touched his last waking thought,

His dreams, and his first breath when rousing

And he whispered it unto the dawning light.

They progressed thus, slow and contented,

Naming this and that, repeating each the other,

Sometimes with success, sometimes mangled,

Followed by easy laughter,

And sudden it was he realised what it was he recognised,

And his mind all wild-like flew back to his boyhood,

And he felt a rueful desire that he had more attention paid

To his cloak-flapping, mortar-boarded, kindly

But more than a little uninspiring Latin Master!

He dredged his mind for memories shrouded now in time,

And increasing impatient he was with his inadequacy,

But she whose name was forever to be music gentled him,

Making a fine and friendly game of word hunting

In the dusty, spider-webbed nooks and crannies of his mind.

Thus their most comfortable amble passed easy,

With the pair oft taken with companionable laughter.

Difficult he found it at times to think, however,

Of words not spoken for it seemed a lifetime,

So taken was he by his circumstances and company.

And soon it was, far too soon thought he,

The pair arrived at the edge of the settlement,

With its buildings that most improbable were,

Being built with great granite blocks which should not bend

As they did, making shapes that delighted and confused.

They were neatly set by cobbled streets,

And obvious it was they had seen much in passing time,

Cobbles shiny with the soles of the feet of years,

Great oaken beams settled within their granite homes,

Sleeping now in their twilight time,

At peace with the granite,

Marriages of many and many a year.

Folk they met aplenty,

All beautiful in their distinctive way,

Though not a touch upon his companion.

All were known to her, it appeared,

And though they startled were by his presence,

Their best they did to give formal greeting, “Salve”,

And not stare, though his great height,

Night-black skin and attire

Obvious were in marking him out as alien.

Gentle-like she navigated him through the busy folk,

Their beasts, so many he had never seen the like of

Except in books of fiction, here made fact,

And the occasional vehicle which whispered along,

Platforms upon which folk sat casual-like or placed freight,

And hovered above the ground,

Propelled by he knew not what.

There was so very much to look at, his eyes darting

This way and that, always returning to she

Who already held him in her thrall,

For reassurance or help in understanding.

A relief it was from the visual bombardment

And cacophony of a language he little understood

Being all about him, when she led him through

A gentle arch into a courtyard where seats of stone

Were scattered in an apparently random fashion

Around a small pool in which a fountain played.

Random was the thought which took his mind

Back to his now seeming distant childhood,

Back to the piazzas in his mock Italian home,

With their jingle jangle fountains,

Only with those the water

Downward flowed, not as here.

And recalled he all those originals

His parents had shown him in pictures

And had copied from sentimentality;

Both originals and copies,

Smashed, long since,

Now, as with all his land,

His adopted land,

His family and friends,

Naught now but melted memories,

Totally and utterly destroyed.

Two children emerged from the dwelling

Which bounded the piazza;

One older but both younglings.

(He was to later discover that neither yet

Had their gender chosen and,

As was the way of her folk,

That was not a decision taken lightly

And so at puberty was accorded.)

Obvious it was that these were of her making, 

And sudden it was that a pain reached deep within,

A poniard sliding effortlessly into his heart,

Of her making and another’s!

Absurd he knew his jealousy to be,

For that he knew it was,

Though he was not of such a nature.

Swift however his attention returned,

And he smiled and saluted, “Salve”, with

The slight bow he noted these folk gave.

They, he further noted,

His second learning of elven etiquette,

Lower bowed with their greeting,

And then both looked questioning-like

At she who, most obvious, their mother was.

She ushered them all within,

To a room most spacious and light;

Furnishings, ornaments and pictures,

All of extraordinary beauty were. 

Waved she then at a seat, a lounger of sorts,

And then disappeared she into an adjoining room. 

The children, now apprised of

His appearance in their midst

Pressed him as children do

To see, he thought, if he was really just stupid,

Because he spoke the tongue so little

That they with ease spoke?

The elder, it appeared,

Quick was to decide that

He was, in truth, a simpleton,

Bowed and off elsewhere went.

The younger, however, fascinated seemed,

And thus started a long relationship of teacher and student.

Active, the youngling was, in enjoying the superiority,

But gentle and caring was in helping him to learn,

With patience, and mother’s easy and gentle laughter,

Taking from him any sense of foolishness at his ignorance,

And it was thus that he relearned quick and easy-like

That which had been so badly battered into him

All those long years ago.

She who already held his heart returned shortly,

A platter in her hands, plates, knives and cloths

Piled neat-like, surrounded by breads, cheeses

And an assortment there of fruits, some new to him,

And as she called her eldest, put the platter at a table

And all washed their hands in the bowl their available.

Sudden it was that he realised how hungry he was.

He looked at her, and again it was hard to take care

Lest his emotions, inappropriate as they were,

Did not linger upon his face for her or the children to see.

In her eyes, it was, he thought perhaps he saw something,

But clamped he down upon that thought as her lips,

Her exquisite lips, uttered soft the command, “Manducant!”

Thus it was that they shared their first meal together,

The first, though neither knew it, of oh so many to come,

In pleasure and in pain, light and darkness both.

…………………………………………………………………..

And so it was he remained thus,

For obvious it was that he no other option had,

And commenced he dwelling in

One of the commune’s welcoming guest houses.

Days into weeks and months rolled;

His language became first adequate,

And then fair fluent was,

Much due to her younger child’s

Persistence and patience,

And his deep, driving desire

To be able to share discourse with her

Whom he accepted loved he with a passion

That burned within, brighter than any star. 

And as the planet turned its round

His love for her burned ever more fiercely within,

And he saw, too, that she excuses found

To be with him whenever it was possible

And a flame of hope joined

The inferno of flames within.

Her partner was, found he to his great displeasure,

Both kindly and thoughtful.  He hardworking was,

An excellent father and husband in his way,

Well respected by those about him as he daily

Conjured fine and complex charms

To bend both granite and oak

To the mind, will and imaginings of his employers.

In himself he found also a talent lay,

One of which ere now

He had nothing known of,

And one, gloriously, he shared with her,

Thanking whatever Gods or Ancestors

Of influence there may be unseen at his side

Who helped in bringing it about thus! 

He a mender was.

Started he by chance, in truth,

When a chair he sat upon

Commenced to collapse beneath him,

And his mind twisted, grasped it somehow,

And it returned to that form for which it was designed.

From thence forward, when the folk heard of his gift,

Oft it was they brought things to him,

Things both obvious

And mysterious in their function or form

And his mind reached into them,

Feeling for their essence,

Grasped and twisted and each one returned as new.

Later it was he mended a foal,

Its mother distressed,

Its horn broken at its forehead.

He came upon them thus as alone he walked

Through the forest thinking on she whom he adored,

Aching for the sight of her, for her company. 

No thought had he of fixing the little creature,

But took he, instinctive, the damaged horn is his hand,

Moved it to the young foal’s head,

His mind touching it, whispering

Words and phrases that came to him

As easy and unthought-of as air to his lungs,

And the horn that had shattered was whole,

Shining sharp and fine in the blessed sunlight,

A pride for any little foal,

And its mother leant forward upon one knee,

Her horn gentle upon his forehead,

And the lightening ran through his body,

Fierce and joyous, it was,

And as stood she, he knew her,

Knew she had gifted him her sacred name,

A name which if uttered, be it ever so quiet,

Would call her to his side, instantaneous-like.

From that time forward

Happily made he his bread restoring things,

Creatures and elven folk, young and old,

And happiness was his in work in every way,

For there could be little that was more satisfying,

Than to serve those with whom he shared the world,

And in doing so, to give them joy.

Life was good,

Deep down inside good,

Purposeful, rewarding and right;

And great joy was his

When together they were,

Some-when for but moments,

Wonderful, intense, bright shards of life,

In the midst of a scorching star of instants

That lay protected for eternity within his deep soul,

With glorious, marvels of times extended,

Times within and outside of time.

And she filled his dreams by both night and day;

He burned for her, his heart an aching knot

When she was not there,

Unless it was he did not

In work immerse himself.

Life, it steady was, however,

Under some kind of control,

A sort of desperate happiness

Which made him both skip with joy

And want to howl mad-like at the Moon.

And each day and much of the night

Was filled with unvoiced hopes,

Hopeless hopes … and then one day

As worked they together,

Mending a mechanism

Most arcane and complex,

Their hands touched

And they did not move,

The Sun did not move,

Nothing moved,

The World turned not …

And he kissed her!

…………………………………………………………..

Time passed, as it is fair bound so to do,

And they knew their love,

Acknowledged it fully,

And more and more together were,

And all the time in each other’s thoughts and hearts;

And so it was that others noted their love,

For both were deep changed by it,

And at times they despairing were

Because of the pain to others it gave.

But their feelings burned within

And drew them on an inexorable path.

And took she him to her oak

And showed how he too could morph

Within it, and it welcomed him without judgement,

For in its long wisdom it saw the light of love

And knew its purity and control,

For it understood destiny,

Had talked of it, in a slow deliberate way, as trees do,

And absorbed the knowledge, experience and wisdom

Of the forest entire.  And it taught him of

Inevitability, and the futility of guilt,

And so it upon them placed its blessing.

And then it was that one night she came to him,

Her partner and children elsewhere

Until the coming of noon on the morrow,

An infinity of time it seemed to them both,

Until, all too soon, infinity expired.

And when it was that she lifted from her body

All her clothing, he could not breathe,

Overwhelmed-he by her sheer perfection of form.

He was not some naïve, untutored or inexperienced

In loving and beauty in its many forms,

But different this was, utterly and extraordinarily,

In no ways similar to aught in his experience;

Her perfection and his feelings of awe

Made him wish to shout out his bliss,

Weep his joyous wonder,

Pour a river of loving words into her,

As his heart thundered within his chest,

Fit to break free and to her fly,

And he had to force himself to exhale.

By instinct it was, that he opened his arms

And she came, and filled she them to perfection,

And her body fit against him so easy-like

As though it had always been thus and always would be,

And at first their passion took them,

And as they joined together, wildly he laughed,

And she nonplussed was, momentary-like

And then she joined him,

For it was indeed a wild and astonishing thing

That they fit together so perfect-like,

And then their passion and the waiting,

Commanded their bodies onwards to ecstasy;

And hasty, frantic they were at first,

Wild and frenzied as they crashed together,

And soon it was they cried out,

A marvellous harmony of climax,

A rolling, crashing climax,

Setting them both ashuddering, twitching

Uncontrollably and holding each other

With a sort of desperation which made no sense

But was the answer to everything

In that moment of endless time

Outside of time.

And through the night they learned of each other,

Their hands and lips giving and taking pleasure;

They explored their bodies and made love.

Quiet and gentle they were, lusting and satiated;

Talking between times of a future they sought

But knew within was possible

Only as a maybe, and that maybe only

At the end of a painful journey;

And they would hold each other,

Forcing from their minds all else but

This room, this bed, this now.

And dozed they, at times,

And then he or she would reach

With lips and hands,

Into the other’s slumber and soon

Awake they would once again

Come together, and oft times come together,

And if not, then come with shared joy.

And soon it was that the unwelcome dawn,

Insensitive-like forced its way upon them.

At first it was that he his eyes closed,

Tight like a child, wishing away the light,

Reaching with his mind to extinguish

That one by his bed which had illuminated

Their exploration, passion, loving, exhaustion

And the tender words, all indelibly writ upon their hearts;

Then it was that he looked at her sleeping by his side,

Of a sudden thankful for the light of the day,

That he may see her, natural-like,

Her mouth slight-open, her hair across her face;

And listened he to her breathing,

And each breath blew as a gentle breeze,

Across the oceans within his heart,

But of a sudden he was in a state akin to terror,

His heart feeling crushed within him,

His old night and daymare flooding through him,

That just as he had arrived to this sphere by chance,

Chance might return him to his own!

As chance had it, it was then she opened her eyes

And saw she the terror and knew it well

For it had often-times been hers also,

And she reached out and drew him to her,

And quietly, deep in their love,

Their hearts full and fearful, together they wept.

…………………………………………………………………

As had to be,

Written, some might say, in the stars,

No longer could they bear to be apart;

The pain was as though a limb had been lost,

And so they together came, living in his home;

The younglings their mother accompanied,

For such was their desire,

Especial-like, the younger, his tutor of old

For whom, if he were honest, he had the greater love,

Though he would have killed for either,

Were it necessary so to do,

Or his life lay down for them,

For they were part of her,

And each had part of that

Which he loved in her,

Growing within them,

And it was deep within his heart,

The need to nurture that, to watch it grow. 

The opprobrium was not universal,

But her parents, they it difficult found,

And her partner of old,

The father of her two beloved younglings,

He his best did to make life problematic,

Serpent-whispering half-truths and salacious lies

In the ears of all who would, prurient, listen,

And thus soon it was they established

Who their real friends were,

But nought was there could dampen

The fierce, burning joy of their love,

And their wild lust for each other;

And so it was that as the younglings

Took themselves off each morn for academy

They instant ran, laughing,

Tearing off their clothes

And throwing themselves into a

Glorious and frenzied union,

Generally in their battered bed -

Oft times in need of repair as the days flew by -

But not infrequently on the stairs,

On the kitchen floor,

Or leaning over, in and above

Various pieces of the more robust furniture,

It being off-putting in the extreme,

Having to pause their thrustings and lungings

To reach into some object to mend it

As it betrayed them and attempted to collapse!

Such was not always the way their bodies loved.

Oft times it would most gentle and considerate be,

The culmination of slow touches,

Teasing tongues and fingers,

Massage or slow, tempting encroachments,

Taking the slow road,

But whatever the speed,

Ending in a desperate need

And absolute commitment to mutual satiation.

And oft it was they lay, companionable-like,

Touching, this way or that,

Talking of the events of the day,

The concerns for the younglings

And all that it is that lovers discuss;

Or sit they would, close and comfortable,

The younglings abed, a good fire filling the hearth,

Telling each of their own worlds,

The different laws of physics, most remarkable

Operating successful-like in each;

Shared they happenings of the days past,

Childhoods so different as to be

The stuff of storybooks,

Truths which no longer were;

And explored they their future hopes,

For themselves, the younglings, the world,

And too they beauty discussed,

Art and music, philosophy and

The vast enigma that was life and the God/ess.

And as the days and the nights

Took their natural course,

Their happiness did nought but grow;

As the time it passed,

So did much of their need to speak

Of aught but the most complex of things,

For as with their hearts, their minds became

Enmeshed in each other,

But for him he with words struggled

To try to her explain the depths of his awe,

Which retained he from that first moment

When he had turned and seen her.

It in no way had diminished,

Indeed, with every passing day

He in the glory of her company spent,

It grew; for always there was mystery,

Always a beauty which still
Made him catch his breath

At unexpected moments,

And there was too the labyrinth of her mind

Which each day more complex grew

As he learned more of her,

Her thoughts, abilities, skills,

Her love, empathy, compassion,

And the way it obliged him,

Happily, to goodness!

Such was the joy that filled their world

That with each passing day the lurking terror receded,

And he forgot the circumstances which brought him

To this wondrous place, to her and a life of glory,

And one evening it was that they chose to stroll

And make communion with her beloved oak,

And there it was that the silver light of the Moon,

Touched, most gentle the paints of God’s palette,

The soft, innocent blues, pinks and reds

Of the rarest and most beauteous of sunsets,

And a rainbow, inflamed with colour,

Seeped into the languidly coming night,

There, at that time, in those exact circumstances

A portal opened again, a weak point in space time,

And there it was he lost hold of her soft hand,

And found himself back in his sphere,

And his heart almost stopped with horror and fear,

And turned he and dived back, but too late,

The spheres touched no more,

And his head went back

And long and loud howled he out

His tortured soul, his stupidity, his loss.

………………………………………………………………..

Naught had changed in this his home realm,

No time had passed

And all was the sorry mess

It increasingly had become.

His friends thought him quite mad

When he sold all that was his and

Disappeared back to that place in the desert

Where the spheres would at times touch,

And bought he that worthless and most precious land

And built he a cabin of logs,

And each eve he watched to see if the Moon

The sky, the colours and the hand of God/ess

Would align for him,

That he may return.

By day he wrote of his memories,

And at all times that journal kept to hand,

So that he might tell her of his experiences,

His thoughts, longings and love,

For he had to believe reunited they would be

For to keep himself at least half sane.

And on winter nights when the desert

Cold and chill, biting, scratching wind

Reached into his aching soul,

And there was no moon in the sky,

Then it was he would take his hover

To the nearby, dying little town,

There to buy he supplies and sit he

Long and lonely in a bar he felt

Some sense of belonging in,

And as time passed, folk curious were,

And insensitive to his misery and loss,

Sat they and broke through

The pain of loneliness and grief

He wore around him

Like a blanket, a shroud

And they would talk.

And as the days turned their course,

Weeks turning to months,

Started he to listen and discuss,

And when they asked what it was

That oft he would be seen writing in his book

And he told them a story, a love story,

And then they left that thread alone,

For most, as was normal in his world,

Considered it a thing most dangerous

For it gave unto others,

A key, leverage that against them

Could later be used.

But learned one friend and he,

By chance as in her realm,

That he was a mender;

It came about thus:

One eve as joined he was

By a man he now knew well,

A good enough man who

Lonely was also, and filled with loss,

Dropped an old fob watch on the table where they sat.

His father’s it had been and his grandfather’s

It had been before him,

And precious to him it was,

Though it functioned not,

Had not for many a year.

He picked it up, curious, looked upon it

And instinctive-like reached into it with his mind

And twisted it the way he did,

Returning it now in perfect working order.

His companion on discovering this delighted was.

He thought nought other than a lucky fall had

Shaken it in such a way as to correct its fault,

But as homeward he wended his weary way,

Of a sudden he took it from his pocket,

And again looked upon it

And saw what he had not full noted firstly,

That the cracked glass was most perfect now!

And so it was from thence forth

Carried he with him each night,

As to the bar he made his normal sojourn,

A small, deftly decorated, thimble which

He had long since given to his now dead wife

And had repaired with glue when it dropped was,

And pleased he was with his repair but irritated he

That a small chip remained.

His wife happy was and said she that the chip

Barely discernible was but he knew,

And saw it first, each time he picked it up,

Which he, himself, knew was somewhat stupid

Like poking a tooth that pain delivered,

Whenever you poked it.

And one dark night

When no moon was in the sky

And rode he to the bar,

The thimble to him was passed.

He looked at, admiring,

As he thought he was expected to,

The fine workmanship. 

Noticed he, too, the crack and chip,

And mended he them to perfection,

Then noting he the touch of triumph

Upon the benign face opposite,

Knew what had just taken place

And handed it back with a bleak smile,

Which with his dark mood,

Was in accord.

His night previous

Had been filled with horrors,

Dreams of loss and pain,

And his day was likewise.

He had noted the calendar and calculated

How long it had been since his arms had held her,

Since his lips had caught that place upon her neck

Which made her gasp and press hard against him,

And his body ached as he had shaved,

Trying to believe, but

Seeing now the grey in his stubble.

So as the thimble he returned,

Knowing of the trick upon him played,

To his new friend he him informed

That he was Italian,

Born he of Italian parents

Who late had left after the first bombing,

Then they to England fleeing,

As luck would have it.

He had true lucky been,

Or they had had foresight,

For when it too was eaten

By the vast mushrooms,

He with his friends was residing,

Here in Brazil,

And here he remained,

A misplaced Italian mutant.

He fortunate or instinctive-wise was

In the person he chose to share his story with,

For he was not of the ‘witch’ hunting tendency,

Knowing too, that a mutant mender

Could easy a mutant breaker be,

And thus the ignorant fear

Which motivated their hunters,

And so it was the friendship grew.

And luck had intervened, or chance

Or some such unmeasurable,

For his friend made his bread in a repair shop,

And oft it was in these times of shortages,

Quite simple objects were impossible to mend,

And so it was the surreptitious-like

He took these objects to the desert

Where repairs were exchanged for

The necessities of life,

And so he continued

To exist.

But … his desperate longing

Was turning to grieving,

As time greyed his hair,

Wore at his muscles,

His back began to bend,

And hopelessness

Increasingly darkened his soul.

And he conscious was of his absolute need

To try to fight that darkness

Which offered surcease for his

Near all-consuming pain

And sense of hopelessness.

And hid he from himself

His revolver which had he

To fright away those creatures of the desert

Who would wish his food store to plunder,

For over fond he had become

Of playing Russian roulette,

And half hoping for its peace.

.

……………………………………………………………….

Then it was as sat he one summer night,

Poking with little enthusiasm at his meal al fresco,

Taking note of moon and the sinking sun,

His mind returned to the long lost past,

And recalled he the little foal

Whose horn he had mended,

Wondering how it had grown?

And he dug into his memory

For the mare’s name,

And as it came to him

So spoke he it out loud

With no thought

As to the consequence

And a crackling there was,

A smell of ozone,

And there she stood,

And upon her back

She who he had thought

Never to see again,

Though his heart had held true,

And slipped she down from the mare

And most fleet ran she to him

As he astonished stood from his chair,

And took her into his once strong arms,

And they embraced with desperation,

And he laughed and wept, an old man’s weeping,

Great, gasping sobs of joy, love, sorrow and loss

Whirling in his mind, heart and soul, uncontrollable they

Until she had held him long and tight

And then it was she stepped back a little

And looked she at his aged face,

With grey beard and sorrow lines marked

About his eyes, and her heart was fit to break,

For his suffering and his love,

Both were writ large,

And she his face took in her hands,

And kissed she most gentle-like

His eyes and his lips,

And smiled she then as she held him still

And told him she that he looked a mess,

Asking what in Chance he’d been doing with himself

And why it was he hadn’t sooner called?

And he stared, smitten afresh by her beauty,

Confused by the meaning of her words

And suddenly then she laughed,

And so glorious was it, so madly infectious,

He laughed in return,

And both cried and laughed they

With mad, desperate, wonderful joy.

And then asked she him if he was ready to come home?

…………………………………………………………………

He his preparations to leave made,

Leaving neat and ready those things

He mended had and a note for his friend

Explaining that he was at the last going home.

He left, too, keys to his chest which

In his secret cellar was for safe keeping;

Full of money and gold coin it was,

Near the total for his sale prior to his

Purchase of this desert place,

For rarely had he made use of the stuff

Except for the purchase of supplies

And in the bar, and oft it had been

That his friend he pressed upon him more

For all that he did in mending.

He moved as though in a dream,

And with near every step he glanced across

To see if she was still by his side,

And so she was, for she said with some force

That she never was going to lose him again,

As he took far too long in coming back!

And then it was that he had finished

All the small tasks he needs must do

And turned he to her and asked he what next?

And spake she then a name, most quiet,

And again there was the crackling noise,

And before him stood another unicorn,

This larger by far than she who had brought

Back to him the one he loved more than life itself,

And bowed he to the beautiful beast,

And the beast the bow returned,

But lower went and then touched its horn

Gentle upon his forehead.

And lightning ran through his body,

Fierce and joyous it was,

And with it came the gift of years,

As the little foal now grown large

Gave him his most sincere thanks;

And he felt his back straighten

And looking at his hands he saw

The lines and colour of age roll away,

And his youthful vigour returned,

Running through him like a benevolent fire,

And he stretched and throwing aside etiquette

Threw his arms about its neck

And poured all the power of his mending

Into it in return, that it may live

A long, healthy and happy life.

And so it was that he leapt upon its broad back, easy-like

As his most beloved did likewise with the mare at his side,

And his eyes fell again upon her face

And his heart felt it would burst with joy.

She stared at him, likewise, and honoured

And humbled was he by the look of love she returned,

And then the air crackled once more

And they returned to that place

Where they had first met

In front of her oak -

Except it was not quite that place,

For that place was taken by a dense thicket

Of thorns and stink plants,

For as she told him,

Had he returned he would have done so

To scratches and foul smells, but no worse,

But he would never again stray there, accidental-like!

And he breathed deep the pure, crystal-clear air,

Thanked with his heart entire his steed, turned

And taking his love’s soft hand, looked once more

Upon the settlement which his home had been,

And he had missed as he had died and died again

A death of a thousand cuts as he had unceasingly

Yearned with entire being for his only love;

And once again she took him by the arm,

Most easy, familiar and companionable-like

And strolled they down the boulevard,

Looking at each other all the while,

Their hands tight clasped together.

At the last they arrived at the house,

Which so familiar and welcoming was,

And walked they into the shaded courtyard

Which he had with his own hands built,

And there by the fountain

A beautiful young woman sat,

And his heart threatened once more

To fly from his body,

As looked he back and forth

From her to she who must her mother be,

And then stood the young woman,

As his true love took his hand and nodded,

And the lass bowed, smiled her mother’s smile

And spoke.  “Salve Pater.  Grata donum”*.

*Hello Father.  Welcome home.