NO ROADS

with no roads on our map of conversation,

we began

without plan,

and climbed, into the branches of imagination,

past the twigs and leaves-

those apothecaries

of lost libation,

into houred improvisation-

through its desert wanting rain

after years of stasis,

in a slow camel train

searching for that oasis-

with moving dunes

and negative runes

fending off the grey

in a charmed, nomadic way.

happen then, that this cold acoustic tune,

met your luteful lagoon

of mosaical notes-

and the baton moved,

as was proved

round the wheel with ambient spokes,

conducting without rules

our forgotten fools.

somehow,

go now,

through the eye of words,

to the heart of this rhythm

and the scion of its schism;

then home, like migrating birds

into separate nests-

for now, love rests.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 12th November, 2009. All Rights Reserved. 

This poem has been published in SPARKBRIGHT MAGAZINE ISSUE 5, WINTER 2010 and will be in my next book. Here is the link http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.sparkbright.org%2F&h=8af20