This Eden

Should shrug this chip from my shoulder –
ditch this duffle-bag and suitcase. Travel light,
didn’t you always maintain?

I might just heed your advice;
we were going nowhere, you said,
when I thought we’d already arrived.

Two swans – slicing through
the quietness of it all, seem
to look my way.

What would they know about
the vagaries of love; they mate for life,
don’t they?

Something in the air, or maybe
the wind through the reeds – demented
wild imaginings...whisperings,

telling me not to waver,
but to push on through
this blue-blaze of dragonflies,
to the other side of crazy.

Yet each time I try to break free
from the sting of your lightning
the din of your thunder

I crave that certain stillness in the eye
of the storm, and settle for this Eden
either in bud, or bloom,
or burning.