The Sister Speaks. The Palace Burns

Not so long ago,
Of some weeks only,
The summer palace
They so quickly built
Is in ruins.

His dreams, hopes, his mad desires…

Such poor materials
To build a home,
A lasting monument,
To a few bright days 
In a southern town in June.

He wanders back,
Skinny-dips the ashes
(A veritable lake
It rises to his shins);
And remembers her…


Skirt in hand,
It is an outstretched fan,
She slowly spins, 
She’s gathering speed,
She spins and spins
With the puppet
She embroidered…


She winks at him.
Come on then!
He walks and…
Falls through the floor.

Gently she holds him, 
Watching him kiss 
Her long red skirt,
The green smile,
The polka dot dress.

Such dreams, hopes, such mad desires.

He laughs and cries,
Apologises (to himself)
As he pulls his leg
Out of the burnt out
Rotten wood.