With mind in neutral on the train today
I thought about a poem that I'd seen
ten years, four thousand miles, a life away
inside a cheap religious magazine.
The rhymes were forced, the metre was a sham,
the metaphors far-fetched and rather trite,
the feeling shallow-told, yet here I am
remembering the words again tonight.
    I wrote another poem, as a kid:
    another paper bought it for a prize.
    Ten thousand pairs of eyes saw what I did.
    I wonder if, from all those pairs of eyes,
still, somewhere on this planet, I might find
some reader with my poem in their mind.

Asleep in your bed
with the smoke of your hair
where dreams lie unsaid
asleep in your bed;
the fires in your head
who create and prepare
asleep in your bed
with the smoke of your hair.

The smoke of your hair
in your sleep, in your bed
is strewn through the air.
The smoke of your hair
from the fires within, where
new worlds will be bred:
the smoke of your hair
in your sleep, in your bed.

For you are the sun
and you are the thunder.
In sunlight I run
for you are the sun
that fills me with fun
that fills me with wonder
for you are the sun
and you are the thunder.

Among those born as humans on the earth
within their mind the mirrored planet lies:
the universe contained behind their eyes,
more tangible with every day since birth.
Within, each place you love is held for you
perfected; every friendship dwells therein;
and if you dare, a thousand tales begin,
and if you close your eyes you'll see it's true.
    Within that place a forest lies, more real
    than all on earth, and all you count as dear,
    wherever they may be, you'll find them here,
    just as in life of sight, of sound, of feel;
there you and I will stay, and always be:
and when you need a hug, come visit me.