The Trust Stone

   

If I wake up whilst you sleep,

to talk to ghosts

that keep keys

to the treasure chest,

there can only ever be more;

not less;

want and hope in me.

See, I have been told a thousand things:

‘gentle fairy’, ‘incubus’, ‘angel

without wings’…’star-voyager’,

‘heaven-sent prize’, ‘the sky is

green when I look in your eyes’…

I could only conclude they were

all untrue…as I watched the Trust-Stone

crumble into the bluest depths of sea,

and I turned all their boats away

from me, and my savage island of sand,

reaching for the next

pilgrim hand, perhaps different

this time…

So if I toss and turn and

sigh, and check beside me so now

and then,

it can only

really be said,

I never heard the rocks falling before.

I didn’t have time to run,

and bolt my ever-open doors, before their edges

put scars on my soul;

and though I welcome

each

new boat that moors here

as though I have never seen one,

that hanging rock

still weighs some

and few have had courage

to sit beside me,

beneath it,

and keep no secrets…

Despite the danger, I

shall never leave it,

for some day soon

I hope to lay down bricks here,

watch the waves

and see how near they lap;

and I will need my patched-up

trust-stone (and the truth) as foundation,

for you cannot build on sand to last.