JOSHUA LEON

Selected Poems

THE PAST IS AN UNRECOGNISED DREAM

 

Is this our most authentic voice?

The birds’ songs resonating once more,

Born twice, their love reborn,

the simple bay tree coveted the nest

where they rest, in exile of our view

and beyond the echo of my voice.

 

For apart from the voice and the faint

Sound of our breath there is no sound.

None at least that we can hear.

This we can tell by the faint sound

Of our breath, reacting to the tenderness

of your skin. The hairs broken from

tiredness, excited by this ephemerality

our whispers the silent bond

between us and the trees, and the

grass on which we lay our heads once.

 

Now the sand that our feet mark

at the first moment

of this day. Slipping through

the single solitudes of sentences

constructed as wires to wrap around our

home, in which we drowned, as an

old rhetoric returned, reuniting us

with the sensation of this outsideness,

this in-between, between here and there.

 

I returned to your noises

your grunts and your fears;

the nuances of a dream.

 

Not my first dream, and not your dream

in which you thought of food, and the sun

but the dream which never ends,

in which you run, and hide, and run.

As the eyes dance through a swill of imagery

underneath lights of unknown colours

As the eyes remain focused forward

while trains carried us into safety,

flickering like the fluidity of fishes wallowing upstream

in hope of the fountain from which we came.

 

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© 2018