Poem: The Love of Unreason


Much to my surprise, I discovered a lost

Land upon my doorstep. The face of the

Forest loomed over the Waters of the Deep,

And The Lady of the Chaffinch bore her red

Breast, still brooding with pelican blood.


“When I die,” said she, “bury some flowers

In my chest, so that once I am gone from this

World, I can still paint the roses crimson.”


From this vermillion isolation went I.


“Come into my hole!” said The Mole.

“It’s pure William Morris, don’t you



But, I did not know, for I had already

Fallen further.


This is why I now sit in this garden, and

Read my fortune in the fallen leaves,

Scrying the undergrowth, as I descry:

“The sky is not a black skeleton, but a

White rose – a nest of lilies – a silken dress –

A watch – a sensuous caress that never quite



I said this, and the crumpled leaves were

Black skeletons, dancing the slow pavane

Of finite decay; such fragile, fading fingers,

Every touch a shiver; every lingering kiss

The seduction of substance, sinking back

Into sky.


I tried to put the mute button on my heart.

I had my season. But the tears rose up with

The dawn – and Aurora tapped my chest with

Her opal fingers, saying:


“Come on, now – your time is come”

And I felt sad for no reason.

And I felt lonely for no reason.

And everything was so wonderful,

So perfectly unreasonable, that I

Couldn’t help but be moved by its



“This is it,” said I. “This is the opening of

The well; the chastity of enlightenment;

The milky sickness of nights and mornings

Merging into one. This is the whiteness of

The Magpie’s Chest, and the fortitude of

The Sun. This is the Love of Unreason –

The creeping in of Winter’s Thorns.”


And, as I swept up leaves I would rather have

Left scattered, I turned my thoughts into lilies,

And planted them,

One by one.


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