The true poet dreams being awake. He is not possessed by his subject, but has dominion over it. In the groves of Eden he walks familiar as in his native paths. He ascends the empyrean heaven, and is not intoxicated. He treads the burning marl without dismay; he wins his flight without self-loss through realms of chaos "and old night"...

CHARLES LAMB

photo © bob arnold

BOB ARNOLD










FLOATING WORLD



It was a dreamy time for you and me
The weather said so


The pair of windows that opened like shutters
The easy turn of the latch


Through the opening light dazzled
Something like your hair


Many years married I loved you like
A young girl from behind


A small bird with flashing orange wings
Sang from a tree that grew to our window


In this hut we built with our own hands
Some would call it a fairytale


These days pass by as light becomes darkness
There is next to nothing to show for it