I was at the cabin on the island.
The dogs were about,
Indoors and out.
Mike and Win,
Santhe and her children.

I was at the cabin on the island.
The children were about,
Indoors and out,
And Santhe met me then
And looked at me again.

I was on the island at the cabin,
With dogs and kids and
People all around,
Indoors and out
I moved about
And looked at Santhe
Once again.

Then in the cabin
Santhe looked at me
And I at her.
No words were in or out,
Or all about.

No words for where I was,
Not in or out the cabin,
Not on the island
But travelled elsewhere
By the moments glance.

Moved years ago
To when small Santhe
Stretched her tiny arms to me
And I in large hands held her
Hearing no words.

And with no words
She, who was not yet Santhe
Spoke, and I, hearing no words,
Was spoken to by
Who was not yet Santhe –
The Mystery.

So she who was Santhe
Gazed as who was not Santhe
While I was in the cabin, not.
People about, no.
Spoken to, never.

Reminded in the cabin,
Out of it,
In or out
Holding the Mystery.

Remembered holding
In large hands
The love –
Fragile, tiny, Everything.
In or out or all about.

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp

Copyright © 1999-2010 Tony Crisp | All rights reserved