JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

All night the village disappeared into

its hilltop and by morning only camouflage was left

dogs whimpered, cats blundered into lamp posts

the GPS played Philip Glass and clouds

the sundial and the street lamps turned to Braille

 

I trod by some mistake on my bifocals

counted footsteps from memory to brain

Shakespeare had got confused with long division

my fingers turned to thumbs misplaced my name

 

Groping I found you in the kitchen

searching for a match to light the way

our fingers locked we skated to the bedroom

consoled ourselves with touch and taste and feel

 

It rained next night in waterfalls from heaven

and when we rose covered in love’s dew

the fog had lifted, treetops stretched their branches

we smiled and hoped it soon would start to snow