Dreams are running
from my ears like hot wax.

Imagination wanders
like sun struck heifers
circling in a flat stupor,
their flint hooves raising dust
finer than ash.

Random memories
of more natural days
are X-rayed on the wall
like the images fixed on stone
of sundry objects
by the Hiroshima light.

Time evaporated at noon.

By Hudson Owen. From Selected Poems 1967 -2007.

Advertisements