Caroline's Song/The Impossible People

This old poem turned up on my feed. It reminds me that despite everything going on, somehow, somewhere, there's always a party with your name on it.

We are the impossible people
We are bright tattoos of vintage swallows
We live in the blue gold leap of a day
In a garden of newts, surrounded by champagne

We are strawberry convertibles
Helplessly happy we are
Windchimes hung exactly
Where somebody will bump into them

For all we are and all we have is summer
We sing so loud the constellations hear
We are invincible, though we forget it
Laughing on the doorstep in the dark


2014