a good spot

the library corner in the new house
is a good spot for meditation

from my chair I can see
a spire rising up between trees

assuming it to be a place of worship
I wondered what denomination it might be

then I was told it was the spire
of the local shopping centre

but it makes little difference to me
it’s still a good spot for meditation

still a spire rising up between trees

prodigal

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

unbegun

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

the old coast road

and there were many buildings and temples
and who is to say which is false and which true
so I kept going along the old coast road
in the hope that I may find a way through

for once more would I visit my father’s garden
and stand among the olives and the vines
even though I am old and weary
what is his is surely mine

so I keep going
where there are many paths down to the sea

for along this old coast road
there is one
that may be recognised by me

ever

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

on the library steps

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

the exile

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

simple things precisely said

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