“Oh my father” she writes
with a pen overflowing with northern lights
which sing out her sorrow into the night
as it rests at her window just out of sight
with the thrush of a nightengale
which in the darkness alights
into the spiriling blackness
just out of reach of her bedside table light

“I’m sad but I must say that this is all true
I know you don’t want it but what can I do
Please remember the day I would stand in the pew
As you well know I still very much do
And don’t let this small thing tax you
Much more than is due
To it its small but you have to say
That I’ll love who I desperately want to!

So with peace in your breast
Take your worrying mind gently to rest
And know that all pains will turn into what best
So keep that in your invisible chest
Which you keep under your soul’s
Finest silken mattress
And know that I love you
And always will never less”

her thoughts turn to the hair
which like wet paper can tear
and she dreams she will meet the girl there
in the street of white dress and great
to the quiet death hiding
of each other hair
as they sing out their pledges
and vow always was to be there

“I know this is sudden but I must now leave
to the darkness which outside silently grieves
and the lover who needs me to tear out her knees
and making her wobble falling to my leaves
of long flowing ocean skin
where she can bereave
in the pleasure of feeling
as she cries on my sleeves

I’m sorry forgive me but I must now go
Into the forest where nobody knows
If at the end there is the angelic glow
That all mankind can seek as he walks through the snow
Of his dreaming and streaming
As he drifts in the flow
As my voice soft and singing
Gives way to its trumpets blow

Goodbye for now I hope I shall come back
I hope you open your arms and attack
Me with the love that you hold in a sack
Made of crucified notions and prophets with black
Cloaks on to cover that
What the are is not that
Where your Augustine claims
And I will be back”

Now she walks to the door in the hall
Where there is a dead breathing which hangs like a pall
With the coldness all screaming as the envelop falls
On to the counter for him to see and to recall
With his tears sadly moaning
Of the lost things that all
Faded with dawn light
And do not come when called.