Treasure Island

Diana van den Berg

(4 November 1945 / Durban, South Africa)

Ready Glimmers


She sat on his heart-stone
in her leafy haven
and let the music
of the summer birds
carolling in avian choirs
higher than the sky,
soak like sunshine
into her thirsting soul.

Her work forgotten,
she drank, in long, slow lungfuls,
the dew-fresh air that caressed her shoulders,
as though the sun-clock had stopped,
honouring her adoration
of all that was good and beautiful and true
and healing.

She felt his presence
and could almost see him
as they sat and read
each other’s incandescent souls
through their radiant eye-windows.

They shut out the world
and painted the fragile hours
with skin whispers on skin
longer than forever dreams
born at the dawn of time
and dancing beyond its passing.

The sun lay down in a bed
of wild vermilion
and the moon rose
in silver and dark velvet blue
many, many times
and over and over again
and still they remained
enveloped in the mists of time...

and they never discovered
whether it was
his dream
or hers.

(8 September 2011)

Submitted: Saturday, August 17, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 18, 2013
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