PHILO

Baby’s breath on Sangallo,

floating under the bridge,

on the darker waters.

Do you remember me?

The curtains of your soul waved goodbye,

a thousand piles of earth ago, in the depth of hunger.

Will you forgive yourself?

Uniforms on children heading to fight the battles of lost fiddles.

Will you write another chapter?

Ghosts of height castles on dead seas.

Will you let the grapes grow?

As above so below. Sol-ve polluti.

Metal heart shut on clays of tenderness.

Will you breathe your life with gentleness?

Sakura flowers suspended on wooden steps.

My lips never parted. Red stains on golden dreams of soils and eagles.

Pearls and whales on shotguns and convertibles.

Odd fish on land. Foam on hills and roots washed ashore.

Will you leave your skin on this sand?

Harbours on fire and moons carved by the Old Jaffa’s chess and the Viennese piano keys. Hush.

Will you hear the loud nothing?

Sketches of oceans on naked memories.

Will you paint this hull with celebrations?

The green man on the eye of rebirth.

The archer dares the cave of innocence. The stoicism of remembrance and infinity. Daring the white stag as the bow tenses in the ripple of fear. Taste the pleasure of knowing we are going home. I see you. I see you.

Will you see yourself?

April’s fool. Advance. Leap. Leap.

The rabbit lost an ear to the silence. Quivering at the sight of the dog. Knots of fastened sunflowers. Salty wrens of ribbons and tails. Il cielo in una stanza.

Will you paint the night wide open?

Ceilings of crows on lashes of eternity.

Will you embark on the journey?

Alder’s necklaces on raven’s bells. I hear the winds speaking through my bones.

Lily of the Valley on the tapestry of spices.

Will you smell the scent of depth?

Dancing feet on heartbeats of hawthorns. Crown the fertility of the senses. Sit on the throne that has always been yours.

Will you celebrate at the hearth of the fire?

Hunters arched as birch. Take your sips. I hold space filled with lives existing in this sigh.

Rivers are my hips, stars in my hands, forests in my head, the ocean in my heart. I am Earth.

The desert blooms where curves don’t move forward nor backward. Right here. Now. Illusion. Eight.

Will you leave the mill to gather the petals?

Will you feel the light again?

The lion awaits by the mountains of iron and charcoal. Nine.

Returns. Gone are the battlefields of power and blood.

Seeds of innocence and ingenuity. Returning.

I returned. Children crying amongst bodies of sacred territories

washed with fables and scars. You found my hand and we walked over devastated volumes.

Birds of unrequited love over the prairies. Your smile ripped apart by dirt and swords.

Neither forgiven nor forgotten cycles on crosses of separation. Change is afoot.

Release. Release.

I call you,

Northern creatures, darkest winters, deepest nights, soils and lands, and ancestors of the mysteries.

I call you,

Southern lights, sensual dancers of fertile days, brightest suns and fires of imagination.

I call you,

Western foliage embroidered on waters of tears and emotions.

I call you,

Eastern springs on wings of clouds and words, and silences, and revealed secrets.

I call you,

Above, bears and compasses of within, ever-expanding and rising through the roots.

I call you,

Below, howling through veils of compassion through the trails carved on these hands.

I call you,

here, within,

I call you for us to never part again.

Crosses of directions resounding with screams. Rest. Hear. Listen. Hear me.

Hear, me.

We are going home.

Divisions unfolding into geometries of unity.

Spirals of dragons. One just one has become.

Will you come home?

We never left.

Poem: Philo, by Ludovica Mazzucato

“Lögr er vellanda vatn 
ok viðr ketill 
ok glömmungr grund. 
lacus lofðungr.”

Music: The sailor’s bonnet, by The Gloaming