I will ride on the tongue of the sun’s ray;
streak through the interlude of silences,
bounce off sleepy swaying, swinging leaves
and come to taste the Grevillea’s sweet armpit
where I will tickle the sleep out of the young day.
I will meet – at the door of my ears –
the multitude of sounds vying for entrance,
and, having heard their brief entreaties
only allow in those that bear the gift of trance.
For that way, I can travel far without any fears
With eyes closed, I will see the smile on my skin,
as the feathery, caressing fingers of the eastern wind
soothes me to deep sleep. Only then will I know
where I am going: because I am going nowhere!
Home at home in my hammock, I have no care