the time we spent together
is permanent
not to fade
for I wear you like a watermark
and sorrow
love’s stock in trade
a flutter of wings
bridge between two islands
a place of meeting
and of tryst
touching
and desiring
and doing without
things are not the same
now
I garden
read
never looking up
even at
a flutter of wings
the coat
he disliked the coat he had been given
but wore it because he had no other
it had been made with love
and given with love
but only when it was worn through
did he learn to love it himself
the jar
I found an old jar in her kitchen
that for long had remained unused
it was like one I remembered from childhood
that I used to cling on to
the trees in my mother’s garden were many and beautiful
though she lived in a small apartment
by the sea
of the silent guest at her table
she would talk to her family
yes the trees in my mother’s garden were beautiful
but the jar
I threw into the sea
of the silent guest at her table
the sea has no memory
total recall
in the electric sympathy of your touch
I found my wilderness
and heaven both
but heaven is not measured out in dust
and dust was all I reached for
when I woke
you had a birthmark
we all have birthmarks
that much I can recall
here on this barstool
this barren outcrop
I recall the electric sympathy of your touch
the price of light bulbs
you sit at your table writing
while I sit at mine
I’d like to have coffee with you sometime
a glass or two of wine
discuss the price of light bulbs
or the intricacies of verse
there are subjects far worse
such as love
loss
domesticity
it would all be with the greatest civility
though I cannot remain serious
for too long
I knew a girl once made me laugh so much
I could have wept
but now she’s gone
and I am undone
so here’s to you
and whatever it is you write
so feverishly
uneasily
at your table
I am unable to stand the light
for much longer
at any price
[first posted Jan 10, 2016]
no picnic
that cloud
on the edge of the cliff
from the coastal path
like the head of the patriarch
only a flimsy thing
that soon blows over
leaving clear day
and little else of meaning
on the headland
where we leave eggshells
for the birds
and scatter
sorry
I meant to show you something special
from another ocean
tales were told at table
that night
and when it came to my turn
I said
why is it always my turn
and the answer came back
you’re the only one
here
so I recounted the days of my
youth
which I missed grievously
and told
of sorrows and lost loves
and worse things
wearing my heart wide open
recalling
the story of the whale mother
singing
to her stolen calf unceasingly
even
from another ocean
spring lambs
this morning everything seems
flat
my food like something
painted on a plate
I’m told today is holy
I suppose I should be patient
but like spring lambs kicking
in a field
I would Christ easter in me
and each day be nascent
[after “Let him easter in us”, Gerard Manley Hopkins, ‘The Wreck of the Deutschland’, st.35]
sea breeze
my spirit
which I have never seen
and that I love above all
things
and is insubstantial
and indestructible
that animated me as
a child
blows through these lines
like a sea breeze
on the night I first saw you
and felt like a man both
invincible
and riven through
