Meadow by Gordon Mason

We walk together through
an invisible wall, a soft bruise

of jasmine on our skins.
Scorched on her mind,

this is early morning
in the meadow when sleep

and dreams have been sold.
In the meadow where light

floods her face, love embraces
dew drops and the river

overflows with the spring rains.
In the meadow where fragile blossoms

are poised like delicate moths
amid the hum of carpenter bees.

In the meadow where the evolving day
awakens her hidden dancer within.


Gordon Mason, Scotland and Spain