you are a cinematographer

.
 
 
 
this half-sown  
   papoose
 
you carry me through
without assumptions.
 
a scent of black tape
wrapping the belly
 
your flat-pressed
stamen sigh
rising from an anemone cup.
 
I would wear
 your eye to the stream
and slip through the eels
 
   and follow  its path alongside,
as it curls through into another,  
 
 to the edge of the dam where
 
two swans foggy in net curtain,
their three cygnets  
 grey in duff down,
circle  
  and glide and graciously  
draw the windows of the sky down.
 
I place
my tent, cloister and flask,
a camera and ambition,
 
my tea besides in monochrome
 and hope in patience for  
an unknowable inkling or urge.
 
 
 
I take twenty-five photographs in all,
twenty-five breaths.
Twenty-five delicate other thoughts.