Here is one of the poems from “The Timbre of Sand” from Stephen Page:
We rose naked from the little warm pond,
And holding hands we followed the helix road,
To a flower flooded garden encircled by trees,
And lay entangled beneath a twisted pear.
We spoke, but after vain attempts to communicate,
The tree became covered in tinsel and buds,
Which we aspired to name, but misspelled their meaning,
And dinosaurs appeared running in boxes at our feet.
We found that tea and wine warmed the spirit,
And the scent of baking bread inflamed our senses,
Yet yeast evoked memories we could not recall.
We tilled the earth and rested at night in furrows,
Discussing genealogy during meteor showers,
And ate bulbs, calmed by the envelope of stars.
Find the book online.
It may also be in one of your local libraries or bookstores.
Stephen Page 