Sometimes when sunlight plays across my fingers

Sometimes when sunlight plays across my fingers

Creating shadows on the empty page,

There is no dancing but

Something magical happens

Thoughts move with purpose

Faster than writing

I am thinking of walking

And then I am

A fresh wind on my face,

It is summer in London

The embankment is alive with colour

We walk hand in hand

In a conversation with Matisse

When did a cube get to be two dimensional

Picasso turn blue?

The sky is on fire

Turner is more than a painter.

We dine on a Sunday

The whole family are with us

It is as wholesome as Christmas

The world in a daydream

Dressed up for a party

The best kind of laughter

When no one is missing.

The two of us sitting

Alone on a sofa

On top of a mountain

Doing a crossword

Your head on my shoulder

The world is still waiting

For proof of existence

When nobody listens

To what science is saying

It is not April fools day

This is no time to make hay

Or for the games, bad people play

When greed and corruption

Are rife

Pan walks the plank at the point of a knife

Newton eats an apple

And discusses the gravity of the situation

With Freud

Jung tries to avoid confrontation

As I walk into a tragedy of my own making.

Isn’t that always the way

If every day was like Christmas

Nothing would ever be special

One of these days

Inaction will freeze me

Imagination will grind to a halt

I will become a pillar of salt

We all need our dreams

To be real “in the moment”

And to know how to end them

Before they escape

But not today.