Coast of Dreams

An island of barren stone
hangs hard by a fertile shore
that teems with color and life.
Sadly the grey stones wept:
"Woe to the uninhabited,
forever condemned to loneliness!
What sin was mine, that I sorrow
alone in this ocean of darkness?

Sister, of your generosity
give me a few of your children,
I beg."

"Airless and waterless, old barren stone
how can you ask such a thing?
I will not send my sons to starvation
my daughters to die in your cold arms."

Sadly the grey stones wept.

Came a host of furious fancies
led by a man with a burning spear.
"We need no water nor air,
nor food nor soil to grow in,
only the dark and the silence
only the furnace-roar of the sun.
We are dreams. We need space."

Gladly the grey stones embraced them:
the black-coated mare with steel hooves
the white-coated man with the razor
the clown with the painted grin
the butterflies half-turned to cancers
and all of their kin. On the stone shore
among their cities and harbors
the grey stones echo their voices.
Listen close.