Your Crying
Your
crying:
The silver
streams
Of your
eyes,
The radiant
red cheeks,
The choking
on words,
The
gullish.
Somehow
I think of
a voice
Curling up
From inside
a hollow oak.
…………………………………………………………..…………………………….
We were a
fire;
only our
sparks
had
direction.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The
Viewing.
Dead: the
colour of old cream,
his eyes
shuttered shut;
so neat, be-suited
and slim,
weight he
lost dying.
They made a
basket of his fingers
with a
rosary spilling down;
everyone
said he looked lovely
but when I
touched his face,
it wasn’t
him at all.
……………………………………………………………………………..…..........………
Seeing
through this patterned pane
your face,
whole but
distorted
like our
love.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Beacon
lights' eccentric twitches
electrocute
the night;
a
lighthouse beam swimming round
swallows
them in flight.
………………………………………………………………………………........…………….
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