Gathering Stars

the frenzied calisthenics
of a fevered whim,
moving thick and syrupy
over corrugated boards of reason,
until sanity bends,
limp and soggy,
dissolving in the fibres
of its own inconsequence.

come, he says,
let’s peel these layers of topaz blue,
the stars are hiding at the end
of this sagging cardboard box,
strip the azure bark
and the moody clouds will float away.

I wonder how we will collect the stars,
but he laughs,
sounds that bend and stretch
like boiled honey,
touching forehead to liquid feet.

without the sky
they will fall, he nods,
like shimmering rain,
and in the night,
we can walk over the hills,
gathering them
like diamonds.

I feel the flaps give way,
the burning of muscle
as it breaches the void,
reality pirouettes along rainbow arcs
that uncurl into obtuse lines,
I empty the day from my baskets,
it is time to pick stars
from the sky stripped grass.