lyrics | fictions | episodes ©E. Best, 2013-2020
come home
to where you are needed
we have left your old chair
at the water’s edge
still waiting
remember again the place of your making
long since forgotten
your father’s face
remember your home
your mother’s terrace
where you sat alone
watching for tears on a weeping fig
that she left in a pot by the door
a place at the table
kept down the years
unbroken
all has been left
wide open
I went hunting the hart
but the hart I did not see
except for one sweet moment
then only fleetingly
this lonely life is brief
and then to be at peace
I went hunting the hart
a hart too quick for me
they are giving me something now to help me sleep
sink deeper in this avenue of angels
in the heart of the terrible absence
we are done
we are unbegun
and our lives do not belong to us at all
saints and angels come
when the day comes
it comes from nowhere
even to those who wait
yes she said
a thousand times yes
but once would have been enough
to last for ever
and when the women came
they found the door open
and the room filled with light
for she had risen
and gone to the market
where they sell fresh pomegranate
gentian
gorse
parakeets in wire cages
softly
softly the waves lap
you were waiting
on the library steps
when least expected
but not forgot
for whom I threw away the trinket
of great price
you hold it at your breast
forever
soft as water
hold the light
as I search the whole world over
for comfort
to comfort you have come
love quickening out of silence
to split wide open
and recover all that I am
tell me about the sea
and what it means
and what the weather’s like in Brindisi
where my people come from
who I never met
I know more about the sea
and what it means
than I do of those who made me
and summoned me from sleep
tell me about the sky
and what that means
and what it means
to live without regret
I spend my days collecting meanings
and haven’t found one yet
it never gets dark here
we have stars and streetlamps
to keep us awake
headlights on the ceiling at 3am
I rise to a hoar frost
and the ground of my being is frozen
later there will be rain
and I will listen at the window
I like to hear about your baking
your day
simple things precisely said
that mean a lot
to one
so far away
complicated things
that you know how to make
sound easy
when birds awake at night
and dogs cry out
I reach for you
we are not strangers
I heard about that meeting
at the well
the truth of water
feeling the level rise
to promise life
I reach for you
as birds awake at night
they are no strangers
either
darkness before dawn
I listen
as is my practice
lifting the mug of coffee to my lips
with both hands
the dog is sleeping on the bed
you tell me (as have others)
that the truth is closer
than I am to myself
closer than the thick black liquid
quickening in my throat
only it’s not working today
it is not here
that which with a rush is only everywhere
in your voice
the quiet breathing of the dog
the sip of coffee
grace knows no horizon
the heart no other resting place
than this
yet I’m no wiser
like children at a rock pool
we have dipped our buckets
and I have drawn up nothing once again
curious water
a ribbon of seaweed
if I were on my deathbed
even now
yours is a voice
to lead me by circuitous paths
to nowhere
which is the only place
I ever thought to be
it might be birdsong
or the voice of my father
calling up the stair
as I rocked on my heels
pretending not to hear
so long ago
I spit the grounds
place the mug down gently to one side
close my tired eyes
and see more clearly
that I am never closer to God
than when I am about to fall
and know
there is no one here to catch me
but myself
so long I have waited
listening for a footfall at the door
now in that very listening
am assured
that You have never left this house at all
for one second
but have in all this time
been overlooked
simply ignored
