I found myself lost in the lavender of my dreams

The road that should have led downhill was level

And because of this my day was fast becoming fictional

 

I asked the soft red poppies for directions

But they were fading and were more interested

In their own graphic mortality

 

It was raining hard when I reached the empty seminary

There were trapped faces at the vacant windows

Each was looking at a moon that I could not see

 

I picked some marigolds and crushed the colour from them

The blood of their sacrifice ran between my fingers and stained my skin

My life had changed but it has not ended