harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
with limbs long as the seaside, i reach for that salt tongue of home; polished like seaglass, washed by the tide: my sigh as white as a cuttle fish bone.
i cannot detract from the child alice eye for her blues will so seldom be bygones -- hard as i might try: i am dreaming of the sky as i swim i swim all night long;
i catch wisps of owls and pussy cats whispering, they vanish as the moon rises over that sleeping psammead, his sandcastle soft as the raven wings i will grow, away away for another
and all the bad luck i bring to your hands, in rings and stolen stones, they are aquamarine, my lover: you will love lucette only in a shade of ardour found once in the nursery, in a blue bottled dream --
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