Sweet Still Moments of In-Between

I wade through the water in my Doc Martins,
not recalling the holes
where the leather had worn.
And how the water would seep in
through the cracks.
Feet sodden, heavy like stones.

Still trying to reach some other land,
the gatekeepers stand aside
backs’ breaking.
Hands and arms akimbo to the breeze,
the thin curve of wooden limbs
Find a doorway.

And looking through I see myself,
walking down stream.
Shrinking smaller and smaller still
the water rising to my chest.
And there upon a mountain pebble,
A paper boat.

I climb aboard,
feet no longer heavy
and I push away.

Such a little girl with such big dreams.
How easy was make-believe,
cardboard rafters racing
under troll bridges.
Waltzing in the moonlight.
Toasting on apple red toadstools,
The fairies slept in the peonies.

I know it is not a door that can be opened,
but merely a window.
A place to e
And I ache at this familiar sight.
Whilst fading like a mirage, 
It strikes a matchstick in my mind.

A glimmer of home,
this river-dreamt satisfaction.
is as fleeting as a flame.
Amongst the silence of the stream.
I sigh at the wonder of this heartbreak.
The sweet still moments of in-between.

The water rises
Where the bank meets the grass.
The cold wet pinches at my shoes,
runs up to my heart
And restarts everything.