Thursday, 30 April 2015

Tomorrow

   

Tomorrow I won’t visit
your piles
of white dust; though twisting guilt
will tell me I must, and I won’t
bring roses
or lilies to lay in the dust
at the closing hours
of a wet, spring day
you will spend,
like this one,
by my side, 
rushing and weaving
from the corners of my mind to encompass
my every breath, gouging and pulling at the
very depths of my power to forget
you, and I
a child again
will let you find me wherever I am.

And know one will know
you walk with me tomorrow,
heavy on my aching back,
an invisible,
curling, cloak of black tied chokingly tight.

Know one will know
how you’ll haunt me for nights, now
and the few days that lie ahead,

no one
will hear the words you once said,
but me, behind my time-warp smile,
every step ‘til you’re gone,
a tiny mile,
to conquer 
as I feel you stronger, 
more heavily, 
for a little while.

Saturday, 18 April 2015

Saturday Morning Coffee


What would I do, my darling, without hope
of your smile?
Without the foresight you bring to each weary mile that I
walk, for six days in seven,
in getting to you,
my scant piece of heaven, fallen without hurt,
like a fledgling bird,
as soft and determined, your every
word to me
is beauty,
is sense,
is joy,
in a world where there seems
a thrum of white
noise that invades me, without ask or invite,
that wakes me too early, in yet dark, fearful
nights where your voice,
softly resonates,
calling me to Saturday morning’s grace:
calling: come sit
with the sun on your back,
calling:
stay,
I have all
the wonder
you have pined for
and lacked, in an arduous,
eternal week,  
spent counting and hiding
that which
your soul seeks,
come, 
now,
lean on me,
and hear only
the wind in these trees, 
inhale coffee
and vanilla
as the gentle breeze
wraps around us, melting present and past,

there is only this moment today:

let me
make you
laugh.