To Rex Whistler Poem by Peter Jones

And we caught sight of flooded fields
across our unexplaining lives,
dazzled by a brief bright light;
not knowing what we saw
and would not see again.
But still our eyes,
Although protected by these shining shields,
Were deafened by the drowning rain
Along the very edge of reason.

You painted sounds we never could quite hear
And, in such season of endearment
Then laid across the page,
You set the dripping walls alight:
Graffiti made glorious,
Summoned to a stage
From some other place we could not know
Along drowned bridleways
That waited for the ebb to show
The earth reborn
and quickly stilled
Behind your door.

Do not call down explanation:
Think only of those prophecies:
Songs of unknown worth -
unfulfilled no more.