like someone
throwing the curtains open
on a glorious summer day
it has always been this way
[first posted December 2014]
Tag: relationships
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
navigation
when conversation became difficult
I made for the shelter of the trees
looking back across the sun-bleached field
to where the party was in full swing
appreciating the amplitude of tall silences
that I could navigate more easily
from there I could see you slowly circling
coming to rest
before finally heading out
navigation
ascertaining a position
calculating the most favourable route
between one point and another
even when there is no point at all
navigation
just moving around
it takes skill
practice
finesse
when even gentle waters
can seem treacherous
safer amid trees
they don’t move around
at least don’t appear to
I whispered a quiet thank you
and plotted a course back
a murmuration of starlings
we sang harsh songs to each other
made our strange movements in the shrill
air
at last descending to low complaint
that found no forgiveness
anywhere
I would have painted grass green for you
my heart forever
scorned
now can’t paint sky without cloud
nor put sun there to offer
warmth
hard to reconcile as evening gathers in
only a child could do that
as only a child
will
the sky grows ever crazier
in bewildering
display
a murmuration of starlings that with darkness
falls away
familiarity
we drift around each other
like intelligent dust
picking up after ourselves
these moods and frailties
until we sleep
and
let the real work of dust begin
what we did on our holidays
oh take me
by the rolling southern downs
onwards
to a little seaside town
park me
in a guest house with no view
and listen
to me moan about the food
hear me
moaning with the homeless sea
complaining
all night long incessantly
harken
to me moaning as we leave
now you get
your turn to moan at me
map reference
when history crumbles
so does everything
we are nothing but a list
of names
dates
map references
I remember the addresses
we have lived at
and one persimmon
on a bench between us
where we discovered
fruit
too astringent
to be enjoyed
