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Royal Festival Hall (Level 5), Southbank Centre, LondonOpen Tuesday - Sunday from 11am to 8pm
Never more than a blink away
from first things ... It seems only today
that Washing Machine Dreaming
opened its timeless tracts to me,
its spiral galaxy
expanding at nine hundred revs per minute
like a brisk shake from the One Dog
back from splashing in eternity.
It’s a whorl in the long grass
where a little twister did its pirouette
or the same Dog, in its next-door’s
yappy spaniel form,
turned three times widdershins
with its every ancestor on great savannahs
where it goes to dream
and we are no more
than a smudge of smoke
on the horizon
Once more I will greet the sun,
the stream that flowed in me,
the clouds which were my long thoughts,
the painful growth of poplars in the garden
which pass through the dry seasons with me,
the flocks of crows
which brought me the smell of the night farms
my mother who lived in the mirror
and was the image of my old age.
Once more I will greet the earth whose burning soul
is filled with the green seeds of my incessant passion.
I will come, I will come, I will come,
with my hair, the continuation of the smells of the undersoil,
with my eyes, as the dense experiences of darkness,
with the bushes I have picked in the wilderness beyond the wall
I will come, I will come, I will come
and the entrance will be filled with love
and at the entrance, once more, I will greet those who love
and the girl who is still standing there
at the threshold full of love.