If My Head Had No Top
Imagine if my head had no top,
ideas would flow out into the air,
before catching in trees,
seeping into other people’s thoughts,
gathering in bus stops.
And sounds and weather and the sky would flood in.
What if my fingers had no tips?
If they just spread out, touching everything as I walked.
A tree and all its bark,
a busker’s instrument, the crowd around them.
Imagine if they touched every colour there was?
Imagine if your toes had no end… You could feel the whole beach beneath your feet.
When you landed from a jump, every shockwave would be a part of you.
Running on the grass, you would almost slide and roll.
Grow roots when you stopped.
Feel into the earth.
Imagine if people’s emotions came out when they smiled.
As if other people could smell, or taste them.
The sweet smell of happiness.
A bitter tang of spite.
Imagine if my head had no top, and I was on a swing.
As the world poured in, I’d see you with toes that spread out, touching everything.
We would sail away on a small rowboat, our fingers without tips running down into the water.
Touching, sharing, absorbing, everything beneath us we couldn’t see.
Imagine if my voice sung, uncurling like the wind,
affecting everything it reached,
finding cracks, burrows,
pushing under doors.
I’d hope that it wrapped around you,
and brought you dancing to me.
Imagine if our minds could think such silly things!
Oh, the fun we’d have! Laughing,
Imagining the impossible, the improbable,
our parts drifting with the breeze.