you are tired, (i think)
of the always puzzle of living and doing;
and so am i.
come with me, then,
and we'll leave it far and far away -
(only you and i, understand!)
you have played, (i think)
and broke the toys you were fondest of,
and are a little tired now;
tired of things that break, and -
so am i.
but i come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
and knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart -
open to me!
for i will show you the places nobody knows,
and, if you like,
the perfect places of sleep.
ah, come with me!
i'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
that floats forever and a day;
i'll sing you the jacinth song
of the probable stars;
i will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
until i find the only flower,
which shall keep (i think) your little heart
while the moon comes out of the sea.
for i have know them all already, known them all -
have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
i have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
nobody wanted your dance,
nobody wanted your strange glitter, your floundering
drowning life and your effort to save yourself,
treading water, dancing the dark turmoil,
looking for something to give.
i love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
they lived and laughed and loved and left.