Two Beats Short of a Poem

To be read in the nasal twang of an EL Wisty

The flowers spoke in multi-coloured sighs,

like painting rainbows on the breeze with parrots’

feathers. The lake observed the sky the whole

day long; the sky returned the compliment

by splashing colours on the surface of

the lake: some blue for when the lake was sad;

some red for anger; pink for passion; orange

… for no good reason. Stars at night pierced holes

along the surface of the lake, each one

a journey’s end. The soil complained about

the endless cold and damp; and who could blame it?

The hills and valleys danced so slowly that

each movement took ten generations. Silence

between the birdsong was the landscape holding

her breath whilst playing hide-and-seek with time.

And you and I, we watched this for an age,

and wondered why we were alone…