Sepia snapshots on a neglected piano
remind my dying heart that it was never really real.
I reject this panoply, this body and image,
and throw my fading flag into the dirt.
By the rain clouds in the sky and whatever lies beyond,
I dedicate my soul to a life among the green.
No more hunting and killing or seeking an outcome
where I can be retired and in league with the dead.
If they roll me over when I sleep on my back,
they can rest assured, I will never forgive them.
Sweet, sweet unicorn of my dreams,
ethereal, untamable, pure and unique,
come with me beyond the fallen angels in the alleys,
past the broken street-lamps, over foggy bridges
where still-fading road signs lead into the forest
and a life among sprites and fox-fairies and green.
There, if I choke and die in my sleep
I can continue to grow in the shape of a tree.
You can sleep in my shade on hot summer days,
touching other lives and shining in your way.
My oaken-love will be everlasting
as the forest shifts and surges around me,
and I will remain there in eons of peace,
an example to impressionable seedlings.
(From March 2015)