I have dreams when the long
and purple tongues of giraffes touch
my mind like waves along a beach,
a slow curl of breakers over sand,
subtle as salt on skin.
They graze inside, these shadows
of the past, of other worlds,
with huge bodies that roam in silence,
that speak not a word but look with liquid eyes.
They have eaten from my hand in sunlight,
have blessed me with a moist breath,
their curiosity like the perfume of golden fur.
My dream giraffes inhale me.
I stride over moonscapes
and drink the dew of night rainbows.
I find you on the other side of the Himalayas.
We walk to the top of Everest and
borrow wolf voices for long howls
that echo round our skulls.
We hammer love poems with our hooves
in the fault lines of glacier fields.
