For David
This is my gift to you, this map
to find your way back to me
should you need it.
First of all, find the river.
It will smell of patchouli
and cinnamon, with the
faintest touch of hope.
Follow it until you see
the boat, and climb in.
Sail southward, watching keenly
the monsters and creatures
of the lands between us.
Remember them, but don’t
accept food or drink from them;
like the fey, they’ll trap you
and suckle you beneath the
blackwater, far from home.
After a while, the river will narrow.
Around a bend, you’ll see a beach:
hard to miss. Its crystal sands
may blind at first, seem solid.
But they are merely grains
and more malleable than you think.
Pull up on this shore, and stow the boat.
Place coins in its hull
as payment. There’s a path,
marked clearly, leading upwards.
It’s decorated with shells
and polished stones. This
is the way to my heart.
The path is sometimes steep,
and the handholds and steps
may seem to change from time to time.
I’ve tried to mark the safest route
with madder and woad,
but if you slip back at this point,
have faith. If I hear you,
I’ll try to meet you half-way
and give you a hand up.
Otherwise, I’ll be waiting
in the clearing on the crest.
Come sit at my feet,
lay your head in my lap,
and I’ll stroke your hair
while you tell me of your
adventures.