A bruised banana.
Bruised in brutal combat with my bag.

And back again
To the start of the scene
Where the evening queen
Slips to morning
And her face melts
Serene. 

A happy shepherd walks
Whistling a melancholy tune
as he guides the woollen 
to a foggy dawn.

But George didn’t see the craggy edge
and Gabriel was in trance divine.
That night, dear God turned his head
And bloody were the rocks below. 

And back again
to the start of the scene
where the evening queen
slips to morning
and her face melts
serene. 

So it was in the beginning
and we were darkness and chaos.
And an old man in slippers
and a night cap
flicked a switched
and there was light.

And he giggled,
gently wheezing
as he slid back into bed.

And the seventh day he
made cocoa and sat in his 
plush green armchair by the fire
and laughed.

For his joke was eternal
but his audience was deaf.

And back again
to the start of the scene
where the evening queen
slips to morning
and her face melts
serene. 

And in the moist earth
A worm wriggles about
eating and shitting
and making the world a
better place.

And deeper,
Where the throbbing heart 
grows pale,
neglected by Apollo’s
vanity,
a seed is planted.

Lightly in the midst of
this furious hurricane.

It is all time
and everywhere
And coughed upon by an old man
in pyjamas up above.

And back again
to the start of the scene
where the evening queen
slips to morning
and her face melts
serene. 

And it melts into morning
and forms. 
and Phoebus smiles again.
And the old man plants the seed
in a cracked pot on a window sill
And tends it every day.

So the banana.
A bruise.
A blessing.

Beauty.