When the grief rises
because of
an archbishop shot and left
in the gutter, or because of
children –
(but no poem can stand that;
you know that story
even better than I. Start again.)
When, on a soft afternoon
the light all washes away,
when I wonder
if any of the others
cast away from that same shipwreck
ever think of me, ever think of me
kindly –
listen –
I am not, never was,
a symptom of your mental disease,
nor am I wanting to open
doors well closed for good reasons.
I am not one to get drunk
and send an email
as if nothing ever happened;
and if I am maudlin at times
it is only because, as a poet,
these things are incumbent upon me.
You said
(this was long ago!)
you would miss having someone
to write you poems.
Which was sweet, I think.
Now, when a bird whistles
twice with the same note
(like a gate shifted back and forth
by a worn man who wonders
if it's latched, and finds it's not)
twice with the same note
followed by a low, ancient,
complicated murmur,
when the leaves cast so many
shadows that
I think “I am underwater,”
and the sun is hidden
behind not only cloud,
but a drench of something
thicker and older than water;
well –
then, I find myself
considering that
the palm of my hand
once rested on your hair
when you were half-asleep,
and that stars, where no stars are ever
seen
poured down
on our broken lives –
and then, I foolishly wish
for news from a far country,
for travelers' reports to say
they saw you laughing, that they saw
you
whole and full of light.
11 comments:
This is beautiful, Dale. I like very much the discursive looping away from and returning to its theme. So many glorious metaphors and similes. I
love this: '...like a gate shifted back and forth by a worn man who wonders if it is latched, and finds it's not'. A triumph throughout.
A wonderful poem, Dale!
Oh Dale, this is a gem.
I'm not sure I've ever read anything I cared for better. I too love that bird-gate-worn man hinge in the middle.
A wonder.
Wow, thank you so much, all!
Now THAT'S what I call a love poem.
:-) Thanks, dear Nina.
Oh, dear dale, this is beautiful.
Thank you, Rachel!
Oh, wonderful. I could hold this for a long time: "(like a gate shifted back and forth
by a worn man who wonders
if it's latched, and finds it's not)"
Thank you, Christi!
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