Mark Heathcote

I have tempered thoughts to dreams
Like eels have swam polar-oceans apart.
Far beyond the clutches of steel tongues,
They’ve hid cavernous beneath boulders.
With their salamander flaming torsos—
Bellied down under; burning coals.
“Here they’ve turned over loves last copper
-leaf of the ECG machine; on a night the sun
Is no longer, asphyxiated by quizzical kisses”.
Nor strangled or nurtured by a promise.
Here—Apollo whispers in my ear—sleep not.
For even now the moon coverts at least half the night!
There are stars—upon her rind hot and shining,
There are orbs of unremitting light.
But, then the electrode switch is hit
And all memories of birth, life and love,
Are permanently destroyed, erased from a dream.