‘Where would you be if it were not for me’, she said with scorn
He thought deeply
& lost himself
among the Matto Grosso indians & Mayan temples.
She repeated her question
spat out with venom, more like a command or a demand.
This time he had to shake himself free, from the Billy Liarland of the imagination
lost in the Himalayan foothills in a rickety wooden bus.
‘Yes dear’, he replied, from around the corner of the globe ’I owe it all to you’.
Once again he floated off
gracing galxies with his silent footsteps
one has to learn to walk Apache , without sound or breath.
Her rising threats stir him once again
‘Your dinner is cold’, she cries from somewhere far off in his imagination….
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