Oh
Brenda
lossing you oh!
oh
losing
you
was Jesus on the cross
was
my best friend
so ucking
brief
such a short I-love-you oh Searchlights
Wrack the Valley of Jordan There
are times
when our fates
are in flux,
myriad patterns merging;
and
moments
when they lock.
Doors closing. I
remember the day
the last phase
jammed together:
three years under the
bridge.
We drove into the winter city
to tie in with the Joneses.
Tires
singing
through the slush
carzooming down the four-o-one.
At the restaurant
my
wife and Mr. Jones babbled.
but I didn't speak,
barely glanced at Mrs. Jones... We
drove into the winter city
carzooming down the four-o-one:
a rabbit crossing
the highway,
halfway across, caught
in our headlights,
stopped and turned
back
into our path.
History's
splintered,
as million pieces,
a legion of barbarians
stalking us with
yellow eyes;
all our mistakes,
lack of faith,
the easy ways in and out,
little
murders.
Catastrophe
is stalking us.
Did
you see the headlines?
the freedom fighters
have cut off the minister's
head,
and troops line all the public buildings.
And
now my wife is leaving
leading my children away
with her black widowed gaiety
rattinkling
like shivering glass. I
know it's late.
It's very late.
But should you find
the heart, the words,
to
change the world: cry
loud banners,
cry headlines. the
rabbit's caught in the headlights
and the future's deciding on us.
Virgo
Through Scorpio
was
real
but now it's gone
another summer
and another time
In
other cloisters
time put on a veil
and walking slow and pale
beneath
behind beside the moon
cast shadows and cast spells
In
the lacunae between events
deep holes the void lie stagnant
Into these we
cast our hopes and fears
as though we cast a ribbon
and a snake emerges
twined
about our quarry
on the far side of the moon
on the far side of the room
fate
is twined by wishes
and by the timeless I Oh
it will be so cruel
when you cast me away
you might take weeks
to get
round to telling me
while vipers wreathe our bed
you'll veil your eyes
and
move your heart
will I see still
illusions on the shell
and sitting close
beside you
whisper no-one's name You
see the moon
has blossomed snow petals
on a cream lake
Tomorrow's fancy
was
my special child -
spoilt and unreal
it cries the moon back into place
pulls
forth the full bloom Ah,
what-could-be
I love you
already she has sung me
back to fragrance Hear
the crystals
now tintagelling
Guinevere's vacillation
See she moves her
feet
her hips clasp that
mouth which dances
but I have no clue
how
to receive the grail which
was real
and now is gone another
summer
another time On
Account Of Worry
because
my head is bowed I circle
where are the doors in the carpeted ground?
and
I think and I think what hems me in
because my head is bowed
this poem doesn't quite work
hasn't
worked through all its forty years
for instance:
the carpet is sand,
the ground is the beach
and
the sea is a major theme.
it's about worry, yes,
but its about meeting the woman
the
perfect woman and
and her
eyes said you may look at me
her mouth said you can touch
her hair said
you can set me free
her silence said ... .... you
may love me the
poem continues grandiloquently how the
wind drew my hair aside
to whisper the world is wild
the wind took my hair
shook
it wild
to reach my ear
and say aloud
this child
this sister
see
how she loves because
my head was bowed with worry
worrying the world
to tell me why my head was
bowed
the wind called long before I heard
to raise my head
and see the
sea spread wide
and far and furrowed.
full and wild
it brought me all
I've ever craved
oh just beyond my grasp that
she even had a body surprised me
I was so lost in her face back
over the waters we flowed
I was the wind
and cuffing on the sea
sired
then of her
the very waves which bore us
that worked better in the present tense I
am the wind
and cuffing on the sea
sire now on you
the very waves which
bear us and so our commotion
breaks upon the shore
where I still sometimes circle
head bowed
listening
to the wind and waves
and wondering
if any of this has any meaning
beyond
I loved you
through this fleeting storm
because the world is wild
Brenda
what
a short moment
we'd crossed a stile
stopped
faced the wind
the
future
I stood behind you
embraced you
a hand on your heart
a
moment the nearest
I've been to home
the fleeting times with you
have flown
are foam I
trust we'll meet in heaven | 
