the devil knows

who was that
back there…
amongst the trees
moving through the dawn
that illuminates the verge of being

though all was still so dim and vague
in the garden of pre-consciousness
I caught a sparkle in her eye
as she smiled at me and whispered
that we shall meet again

*

who’s warm pulse was that
that beat upon the ozone
carrying me deeper and deeper
into the wilderness of cognition

who’s voice said
“you shall taste manifold wonders here:
acute misery
profound joy
you shall be favoured by good fortune one day
and then refused by her the next
go as far as you can
allow your intuition to be your escort”

*

who’s subtle touch was that
I felt upon back of my neck
just behind the right ear
when I was small

playing alone in the sun-filled nursery
a clock ticked in the empty air
the tufts of the carpet compressed beneath my knees
the attic fan pulled gently at the curtains
I turned around to look

*

who’s hands were those
that tugged upon my blankets
whilst I slept
leaving the bedclothes disarranged
though I had not twitched so much as a muscle

how often have you come to stand over me
in the dead of night
introducing deceased relatives
and inverted decades to comatose theatre
of my dreams

*

who’s flute was that
calling so softly from the distance
what sweet pictures you paint
of sepia centuries and never-ending afternoons
but what space is it
that you occupy
my ulterior musician

how is it that I cannot find you
amid the envelop of matter
yet you bid me to draw near
nonetheless

*

who’s motive propelled that orange orb
through the early evening sky
just a short distance above the trees
as it traversed the cobalt dusk
it seemed to say:

“there are truths you cannot imagine
all around you
processes and systems beyond to the scope
of your knowledge
I am no more of an anomaly
than you are”

*

and finally-- do tell me
who’s whim was it
to place those particular victims
unaware
a metre away from the person wearing an explosive belt
or within the many-faced mechanism
of a fatal accident

who’s conscience singled out them
to be in that place
at that time
who’s fingers will sew shut the hole torn in reality
who’s arms will catch the dreams scattered
forthwith
like quicksilver

alice evermore 2010