‘Go on, 
Tell me to imagine the unimaginable’, 
I say
As I look at you 
Over miles of yesterdays 
And tease a grain of pollen 
From next year
To haze your eyes 
And spring new beginnings 
Into a weekend of closed doors.
I want you 
To will me 
To defy the laws of physics 
And nostalgize about the taste of
Tomorrow’s strawberries. 
To travel oceans balancing on my tongue-tip, 
Slip never into now, like water sliding off an otter’s back.
To lean in 
And smell sweat on me 
From adventures that haven’t yet been itinerised, 
Down paths unbuilt 
Behind hedgerows still unpicking themselves from summer.
You ask me how I am
On the jaundiced oblong of my phone
And the question is too whole and round, I have nowhere to escape
So I wait 
Then reply later
In a square font 
With sharp jokes
And endless corners to hide in
And instead
I secretly whisper into the year 
Asking permission 
To take us back to times when the future seemed 
Like fabric laid out for a jacket uncut 
Ready to be made to size
Even though I know full well that these pasts of flowers and berries and other cliches
Are things I don’t even remember myself 
Because they’re not mine.
They’re textbook good-old-days 
That don’t exist 
Or perhaps they just haven’t happened yet.
In these runny times 
Of soft boiled stats
And dippy politicians’ lines
It’s tempting to tease facts for answers
Play logistician and
Arrange feelings into 
Shipments and arrivals and sell by dates;
Reduce oneself to a reduced shelf
Of mismatched ingredients
Hedge bets
Sell shares
Cut losses 
Save the cat.
Really I think
We just want to know that things will be OK.
But OK doesn’t fall from 
The sky like a rain drop. 
And neither does knowing,
I suppose.
Even the rain needs the whole inconceivably improbable glory of the world to exist at all. 
We can study the science of clouds,
Moonlight as meteorologists 
We can weigh ourselves down with facts, to lift ourselves up with understanding 
But to grasp the improbable?
For that we need imagination.

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