Declare Your Goods

Declare your goods:


Exotic dirt-danced shoes

Brushing britches

In a two-part tango

Across a coast

Designed by dancers

Powdered streets with foreign footprints


Photographs of family

Of friends


Embossed in minds

The blueprints of a future

A finite forever


A blazer

Saturated in salty scents

Of minerals

To set ablaze

A Golden Gate

Of International Orange


Wrist wrappings

Stitched with pride

Declare themselves

In unabashed glory –

Seven shades of soulful souvenir

To parade


A distinct new State

Of movement

Of memory

Of mind

Moments to mark in time


You must declare your goods.


Grasping the Ethereal

You reach arm deep into memories unstirrred to find

A capsule, a hollow, a rounded space awaiting

Soft to touch and cold to feel, it is ethereal

And commonplace are reactions such as these:

A startle, a quickening of breath tapered with realisation

And a dozen pangs of wistfulness

It is impossible to grip a thing that which belongs to wetness

It is uncomfortable to live within a thing that which belongs to yesterday

But it is too hard to stopper your outstretched arm with anything but faint resistance

Hold steady, and touch to sense but do not touch to feel,

You are not ethereal