The garden brushed the sea,

The garden brushed the sea,

As I lay

Enveloped in soft green grass

Remembering a moment,

A false memory,

Perhaps a line of poetry,

Like an island

Looking up into the blue.

Reason is a thing of wonder

Branches graze the clouds

The day is always closing

The sunset falling fast

There is something

In the deepest corner,

Hidden in the shadows

Where the best thoughts linger

Waiting to be ravished

For their plunder.

The very best of me

A treasure trove

Of working memory

Whispered through the

Narrow confines of

A quiet morning.

Dulled by forgetting

Held over unto night

Lying low in plain sight

The gentle sound of summer.

The flutter of a butterfly

Each beat of its wings

Moving the air around my head,

Discovering the moon

Hiding in the Mackerel,

Bursting to take its place

As the first reserve

For the setting sun.

Never the bride

But a magical creation

Just the same

And I remember

It all so well.

The garden rolls on endlessly

As far as I can see

From my prone position

Looking outward

Beyond the dunes

And onward to the sea

Without interruption.

If forever was a place

On earth

Here together we would be

For all days, now and

Tomorrow,

Embraced

In verdant splendour

A timeless moment

Of pure tranquillity.