Our Voyage Home

I

Rain showers on sunflowers, in uncontrolled bursts
A sky sprinkling sobs upon the earth
A drizzle in the city streets, where homeless prophets
Whisper sermons in their sleep

We were soaring south; our feathers glittered green and blue.
We would drop down for a week, we thought,
In the evening red and sunset hue.

We would return to the October rain, to the armchair by the fire,
Then we would resume our chatter, in our fine attire,
Of masquerades and peacock pride,
Of social chess, and its unspoken loneliness.



II

Dazzled airport lights dream of “Madrid”
And those who dare to believe,
Loosen their sleeves of enslavement,
As we stumble on the sunburst pavement;
On baking stones, bathed in white

‘Encantada!’ ‘Encantada!’ Cry the children of light
‘Me encanta for the chance, to see your smiles dance.’

The sunset swimming on a lake, wonders whether life is fake,
Inviting just an honest glance, to watch its madness dance
Upon the eyes of market folk,
As double glazing, pierced by sunlit gold.

In this crowd where none do know us here,
In our silent dream, we swim the centre of our sphere.
‘Forget your name, Forget the people,
And we’ll erect a whole new steeple.'
As the gypsy prays to his flamenco song,
The river of notes see what’s really really goin’ on


III

Our voyage into Goya’s paintings
A freak that knew this freakshow well,
And through the stories which we tell,
Saw our mangled face behind the masks.

Our sinister chaos in charade,
‘Pink elephants, Pink elephants,
Pink elephants on parade’

Our rainbow on a children’s blanket,
Runs in streams down our disguise
Now Angie, everywhere I look I see your eyes

Our framework soaking in corrosives
Our colours free and full, streaming out into the day,
melting apparent surfaces away,
And displaying the infinite, which was hid,
In the patchwork of Madrid.

Now any fool is free to see just how far the paint may run
Whether Blake, or Morrison, or the blanket of the sun


IV

The Sun God hangs in St. Engracia
Our ancient home, our candlelight prism

Our rituals in apartment blocks,
Where sleepy oceans swallow clocks,
And rainbow rivers run in paintings,
Draped in ancient silk across the entrance.

We are but shadows on a wall,
Dreaming our way back to the beginning.
This journey is a voyage into the sun.

The centre me encanta
The centre of me
Of the circle
Del Sol

Los hijos del sol saben donde hemos nacido

They have no eyes, but they see everywhere at once.