We walked to the water, but we didn’t
touch the water, didn’t
drink the water
We walked by the water, along, near,
above the water, but not
in the water.
Baptise us.
Drown us, resurrect us in worldwash.
Wash us real.
Fill us, don’t leave any
space in us, let us swim
in stumbling stars.
And may the moon
be part of you.
May lunacy
meet serendipity.
May the stars
inhabit you.
May heaven bleed on you,
make holy love to you.
May rains and sky-high stars dive into you
Glow through your coats,
shine in your eyes,
pour fizzing from your mouths,
come dancing from your hands.
Find your peaceful building and
smash it, smithereen it, scatter it,
rebuild it, reshape it, a new
artefact with an ancient spirit
twisting, spiralling, stairing
irresistibly into the sky.
Irrefutable, undeniable.
Bleed heaven on us — build a sky with us.
Throw a shape on us — twisted, pushed, extruded.
Thrown.
Then the rain will wet us
and the sun will dry us.
The walls will not hold us. The roof
will not restrict us. Will our
noises, voices, choices
sky the weeping earth?
Come dancing.
Will the sky
be high enough, ice
thick enough, rope
strong enough?
Come dancing.
Let us all be there together
when the rain rains on us
when the sun shines on us
when the stars shiver us
when the water rises up to meet us.