This is the house of Love, which has no bound nor end.


I fell asleep at the top of the stairs
in a perfect patch of sun
and woke up some time later
still here, utterly stuck.

All I could do was open one eye
two millimetres wide:
enough to see a dot of dune
behind our house and sun
streaming through the bushes
in a pattern of pulses as leaves
gave lyrics to the wind’s song.

A circle of coloured light
streaming a single, endless message:
“It’s all just love, love
lying paralysed on the floor,
still at peace
with the tiny slice
this half-open eye
gets to see.