Sparrow

I had a dream I'd somehow met this woman

At a party. 

A summer barbecue on a windless day.

But how could that be?

She hung about the apple trees and then stood 

In the centre of the picnic blanket, gesturing and fooling

In raspy, warm French. Accusing people. Grinning.

Like a kid.

No one asked her for a song.

She sang anyway.

Perhaps an accordioniste appeared from nowhere,

All moustache and absinthe, and maybe there was a

Girl with a hat, plain as a button, going

Round us all, smiling shyly, proudly at her companion.

I don't remember now.

When we danced,

Her hair smelt of dust and rosewater.

Her mauve blue eyes closed in their bulbous sockets

Beneath the matching strands of arched pencil brow

And she couldn't let go of the music.

Padam, padam, padam.

When dusk fell over us, her eyes

Turned to glistening white moons

And we listened to her dripping her life out

In spoonfuls

Of dolorous notes

Her hands clambering towards the beaten sky.

Clinging to each other.

Reaching out for desperation.

The songs fell one by one

Like crushed roses

Strewn over the lawn.

She bowed out gracefully

Her shoulders rounded over

And her humorous blue eyes still glittering.

Following behind her was the shadow

Of the 20th century, weeping and limping with wars.

Then the stars glowed above, and I heard the echo of her voice

Like a sparrow's song.