The Burning Bush 2, issue five, June 2013
Astral Weeks A sweetheart from another life floats there W B Yeats
As long as this music exists I’ll be twenty-two and wandering through a cherry-blossomed avenue in leafy-with-love that loves to love Belfast, an impromptu symphony of starlings and skylarks constantly singing soul-paeans to the sunshine, church bells ringing out in epiphany the sweet, sweet, summertime of the past, until out of sea-mystical evening, mysteriously, you shimmer, vision-like, sauntering, your perfume drifting through my mind like guitars, the first silent stars in sapphire skies glistening, heavenly, listening to the wind and the rain in my soul, sense-transcendent of, ballerina-like, pain, to breathe in your hair, to be born again, my arm round your waist in that pure instant in the lilac and blue wonder of being, in cool night air, and we forget who we were before we were here, wet with raindrops and dew, in the eternal now, cherry-blossoms falling weaving arabesques of feeling as we stand at a railing, a train blowing out its harmonica solo,
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