When we were asleep it rained
On the streets like fine sawdust.
The passing cars have sneezed
Grease bubbles in rain puddles.
Feet in rolled trousers take care
You don’t tread on our rainbows.
They are wistful and fragmentary
Besides somewhat hallucinatory.
As you walk, trousers rolled up,
Step on the stones and hop skip
As stones shake with indecision
And let the swirls be your guide .
On the hills the berries would appear,
Time for you kids to bleed your palms.
They were yesterday’s moon-flowers
Their milk spilling like soft moonlight
Lightly sour but fragrance to memory.
Beware, terror thorns bleed for real.
Let it be cold blood in your rat’s teeth,
Not on your pudgy schoolboy fingers
With the telltale homework ink stains.
The sun may slip and fall off the edge
He who had filled all this purple pride.
Hurry to bleed pockets but not shins.
The year’s first rains would force out
The red velvet mites from the earth.
We loved to feel their velvety backs
With our kid fingers and keep them
In finely labelled match box houses.
We tried to side-step velvet hordes
In their procession to the mountains
But we would not know how many
We squished under inadvertent feet.
The little guys made no dying noises
Their velvets soon turning mud rags.
A day this way or that seemed to make
No difference to essential transience.