At the risk of being accused of self indulgence, here is another attempt at saying something in a more compressed kind of way, normal service will be resumed shortly:
Coming back to bed
March 2011:
Coming back to bed
I understood
in my confusion that I want and I don’t want.
I see, I
thought (but I didn’t see).
You told me
once, before you left, that I was… you paused… clumsy
I wondered
if it was true and what you meant.
The full moon
shines through the window,
A dusty ball
of dirt, inert- yet it glows with a memory of you
It does not
show hope or fear, or love, or distraction, though I think it does
The banal
face of a rock I nightly screened my grief upon
So clumsy am
I.
Yet I would have
soared with the Apollo craft.
Made a small
step upon the face of Tranquility
Our world of
wonder, joyful under the jewel of Earth
Oh no, that
could never be (you said), too… clumsy.
So I am
marooned on the lunar surface of my pillow.
There is no
movement on the lunar surface now
Your hair was
scattered like a crater shadow across the bed.
Now long
gone, and your soft breathing is on another pillow far away,
Only the
cold moon shining
On the arid,
empty landscape.
Were you
ever here?
For longer
than the moon has smiled,
It seems a
dream I had but minutes since.
Your
comfort, your presence, your cyan-blue eyes
But I was
woken by a harder voice…”clumsy”
My dreams,
of late, are silent as a vacuum
I no longer
see your face, or hear your voice.
The smiling Moon
is silent too, complicit.
So, I sit. I
turn over and lie down. I see, as my eyes close (but I don’t see).
Downie covered,
I remember, I remember.
I forget.
Comments