On Burrell at Bonhams

Thoughts tumbling, confused memories
When connected curiosities crisscross
Like curlicued brambles which
Frolic over a falconer's purse

To breathlessly chase appropriate words
Like the tiny embroidered dog
Perpetually swimming after but
Never grasping the knowing duck

Stringing ideas like pearls
On Salome's neck, real, lustrous, pure
Incongruous they sit, her infamous deed
Leaving screaming St John with no head.

Concentrating on making mental echoes
Patterns in the dappled green oil reflecting
The Provençale light; golden, warmly
Remembered, longed for sun

Standing considering the diminutive Emperor
His empty visor unsees the crowd
Shiny still, yet battlefield battered
His corrugated strength lives on, upright.

Taken as a whole, this precious
Time capsule collects and connects;
Full of threads to knit, and wire to link
Living cabinets with those now lost.

In appreciation of the Cabinet of Curiosity which is the Burrell Collection.