Friday, 17 June 2011


So I find myself in love
with these open fields
and distant thoughts of the
beautiful steel I’ll ride through them,
some day;
with ever-increasing
open space, emptied,
and evenings filled,
with fire and sevens, and a boneyard of nines,
and all the dove-tailed, gentle time in the world
just to be.
Will you share them with me?
Those nights? Still?
On summer days when the filtered light will fade
more slowly to its rightful place
in your embered eyes.
And will you sit by me then, and smile?
Hold out your hand as you do tonight?
When I am no longer neat,
and tight, and frozen in bloom?
Will my name yet resound
the glittering, gaping
chambers of you and our country mile?
When a full rotation of the world has gone by,
and all the stars have lost their shine; like beetles,
on their backs, in the mud,
I wonder,
would you,
will you,
still, make me yours?
Still fight for me through griffins’ claws, and I for you?
I rub the glass now,
fairytale mirror…
show the future; what of
we two?

1 comment:

  1. loved the vibrant, rich imagery of this.
    "with fire and sevens, and a boneyard of nines" - I have no idea what that means (dice?) but the wonder of poetry is that it doesn't matter, the timbre & cadence of the line imparts its own sense

    marc nash