I return <br />from fishing <br />feeling guilty <br />of the fish in the pail <br /> <br />still alive and kicking <br />not realising it's his prison <br />& he is to be turned <br />into dinner <br /> <br />(the freshest fish of all) <br />to find you've fallen <br />asleep by a dying fire <br /> <br />I gather its embers together <br />& with my breath <br />breathe life back into it <br /> <br />until it cackles & flares <br />its flickering dancing <br />across your still sleeping face <br />the fire greedily devours <br />a feast of twings <br /> <br />that only makes it hungry for more! <br />Grasses tickle <br />your nose <br /> <br />some tiny bug <br />crawls across your shoulder <br />as if you were only <br />a landscape it labours over <br />and not my angel lost in sleep. <br />I cut & gut <br />the fish <br /> <br />(a guilty Budhist) <br />& serve it up <br />on a large leaf <br />tasty & delicious <br />just for you <br /> <br />to wake & savour <br />a fish fit for <br />a dreamer.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-god-paints-the-scenery/
