I return
from fishing
feeling guilty
of the fish in the pail
still alive and kicking
not realising it's his prison
& he is to be turned
into dinner
(the freshest fish of all)
to find you've fallen
asleep by a dying fire
I gather its embers together
& with my breath
breathe life back into it
until it cackles & flares
its flickering dancing
across your still sleeping face
the fire greedily devours
a feast of twings
that only makes it hungry for more!
Grasses tickle
your nose
some tiny bug
crawls across your shoulder
as if you were only
a landscape it labours over
and not my angel lost in sleep.
I cut & gut
the fish
(a guilty Budhist)
& serve it up
on a large leaf
tasty & delicious
just for you
to wake & savour
a fish fit for
a dreamer.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-god-paints-the-scenery/
