Sepia Tones

In the toreador

Corridor of fate

The stage curtain

Rises in the blink

Of a floating iris

 

And the blind man’s

Trembling fingers

Search the face

Of a stranger

For a semblance

Of a sulking friend

 

The fragile fingertip vision

Picks the water colour memories

Which fade into the bird table

Bath times

Of the autumn rain

 

The chalk on the pavement stones

Is washed by the caress of his touch

As the etch-a-sketch world

Is redrawn and reborn again

 

And the linger tip vision

Seeks the dreamtime’s tracks

Danced on her face

And in the width of her hips

 

And tapping out those letters

Which write to all his loves

Where every clause says

Return to sender

 

And the perfect sound

Of their names

Tinkles the register keys

And rings with the belle of return

 

And the typewriter pages

Burn in the edge

Of the candle flame

Where the sepia wallet pictures

Curl in the heat of the day