Dear Eleanor

How shall I tell you all that has happened here?
One day there were bells all in the sea
and washed up like whelks
only singing, ringing

Another day there were clouds everywhere I looked
including under the hearth rug, which was in turn
under a fat, sleeping dog which barely roused itself
to bark, but when it barked, it told me a parable
that I can’t now repeat

This evening, we sat down to our customary supper
and found that the table had gone all quavery
and halfway out the window, tasting the salt air,
which then made the tongue sandwiches taste
of salt, too

Well, it’s off to bed with me,
if I can find it. Some nights,
it’s strewn with fresh petals
of frangipani or damask rose,

and some nights, it’s
gone