Sometimes Poem by Mark E Webster

Sometimes

A ship's wake, tree bark, the smell of mushrooms, and dreams.

Sometimes when I'm too far away from you.
when I'm uptight, can't think right then I might
stare out the window and try to focus on the real.
Stuff you can hold in your hand.
The light refracting off the wheel, turning,
the too huge and marvellous to question,
unfurling
before me.
I try to look beyond the glass, beyond the gloss and facade of good intentions,
beyond the sky-light sky and constellations
to something I can know.
And when looking out and through and beyond, when turning inward,
back, behind.
Searching to find
the real, the stuff you can feel. Trying to simply 'be'
while all around me
clutches, grasps, ages, deranges,
Swings me low
and lifts me high.
Sometimes too high
to see,
too far away from you.

Sometimes I need you
to touch, to kiss,
to feel the real you,
to fight, to stew,
to make up and come together again and again.
In one body, single form
or in all that's everywhere,
that holds you up and keeps you on the ground?
That bit of him, that bit of her,
that smile flicking across the screen,
dandelion clocks,
the sun on your forearm,
a ship's wake, tree bark, the smell of mushrooms, and dreams.