Sometimes my heart wanders

down roads jammed with fierce drivers

peering out of frosted windows.

Avenues lined with vacant offices and

city clerks crushing coke cans

in endless hallways.

A dialectic of pigeon wings and car horns.

Flap Beep Flap Beep Flap

My mind haunts deserts

lonelier than far reaching pluto

and her many moons.

Nobody but me and the road-runner,

chasing the next big adventure

towards a horizon that keeps sinking.

My imagination gets stuck

in rusty attics,

full of outdated, dusty maps

of non-existent treasure.

Old apple orchids stand

inside my head

shading dense undergrowth.

They harbour butterflies but obscure the light.

In my sleep I travel to soft fields,

floating sheets of buttercups

with hills woven towards the sky,

till the scene permeates with emptiness.

Your voice enters the hollowness and

paints my world with peace.

Anna Tulachan