Deb­o­rah Walk­er
(Eng­land)

On the last day, when the red, dying sun
bounces long light on the lap­ping ocean,
we come.
Pick­ing our way amongst the shal­lows,
Step­ping amongst the repli­cat­ing coral
ris­ing in Fibonac­ci sequence:
zero, one, one, two, three, five eight .…
Where the infin­i­tes­i­mal fish­es glint and shim­mer hid­ing
from the shin­ing, sharp-mouthed qua­drat­ic surds.

Our legs are slen­der stilts, sink­ing into reality’s sands.
I am the moun­tain, with stac­ca­to Jacob’s lad­ders.
Broth­er is a chasm to descend.
And dar­ling Moth­er is the gold­en spi­ral with­out end.
Come to us, as is your want, and tran­scend.

Until there are few left on this reality’s shore,
those with down­cast eyes,
and dis­be­liev­ing algo­rithms wind­ing
around their minds.
Come.
You may join us as we stride the cease­less seas.
We are innu­mer­able, indi­vis­i­ble,
We stride as the Colos­sus.
We are improb­a­ble, imag­i­nary, irra­tional, with­out end,
There’s always room for more in our infin­i­ty.

Deb­o­rah Walk­er grew up in the most Eng­lish town in the coun­try, but she soon high-tailed it down to Lon­don, where she now lives with her part­ner, Chris, and her two young chil­dren. Find Deb­o­rah in the British Muse­um trawl­ing the past for future inspi­ra­tion or on her blog: deborahwalkersbibliography.blogspot.com. Her poems have appeared in Dreams & Night­mares, Star*Line and Enchant­ed Con­ver­sa­tion.  

Filed under: Jabberwocky 17