• Marian Glaser


Marian Glaser © November 1998

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I wandered through life’s burning desert,

parched, desiccated,

almost dead, seeing mirages.

Suddenly the fog that had blinded me lifted and

I saw marine pools as brilliant as jewels,

a mountain tarn reflecting summer sunshine in clear ice thick enough to jump on,

a campfire lighting the star-studded night more than the full moon,

gypsy guitars singing for dancing couples,

rainbow colours swirling in a forest pool,

plates filled with chateaubriand jardiniere with strawberries and champagne bubbling in crystal flutes

and zuppa inglese with its multi-coloured fruits glowing through the glass

of a large brandy snifter to follow,

served on white linen covered with porcelain, crystal and silver,

by invisible hands that whisked away each course as it was finished.

The trees grew fruit like giant raspberries without pips.

Red blossoms drifted down

on the white skins of the two making love in the shade.

A friend sheltering me in his arms,

comforting me with his body, indoors and out.

Time and place were different.

The images became unearthly. Two literally became one,

met another joined pair, four became one and

restarted the process.

I wanted to linger,

never picking up my burden and seeing

where my life road would lead next.

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